nffimnmn'     '         '          :. 

. .  "'•'<  •>"•'..-'••  •--,"'  '•'.  -  •'•'•-  '•  '••'.'•> '.'-'"  '.'•.'  -'.  ".  'V  H  ' 


c 


Mr.  Achilles 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


Kate  Witherill 

A  Pillar  of  Salt 

The  Son  of  A  Fiddler 

Simeon  Tetlow's  Shadow 

Uncle  William 

Happy  Island 


Copyright,  1907  by  Harper  &  Brothers 


He  flung  the  words  from  him  like  a  chant  of 
music  (page  20) 


Mr.   Achilles 


By 

Jennette    Lee 

Author  of 
"Uncle  William,"  "Happy  Island,"  etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


New  York 
Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1912, 
BY  JENNETTE  LEE. 

Published,  September,  1912. 


To 
GERALD  STANLEY  LEE 

'To  keep  the  youth  of  souls  who  pitch 
Their  joy  in  this  old  heart  of  things; 

Full  lasting  is  the  song,  though  he. 
The  singer,  passes;  lasting  too, 
For  souls  not  lent  in  usury, 
The  rapture  of  the  forward  viewv* 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBE  PAGE 

I  ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO  ...  1 

II  A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS     .  13 

III  BETTY'S  MOTHER  HEARS  A  STORY     .  26 

IV  AND  ACHILLES  DREAMS     ....  35 
V  THE  GREEK  PROFESSOR  LAUGHS  .     .  39 

VI  ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS    .  44 

VII  To  MEET  "THE  HALCYON  CLUB"  .      .  56 

VIII  AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE  ...  60 

IX  BETTY  LEAVES  HER  GODS  ....  70 

X  FOR  A  LONG  DRIVE 79 

XI  Two  MEN   FACE  EACH  OTHEE   .     .  88 

XII  THE  TELEPHONE  SPEAKS   ....  96 

XIII  EVERYONE  MUST  PAY 101 

XIV  THE  PRICE  ACHILLES  PAYS   .     .     .  107 
XV  THE    POLICE    MOVE 113 

XVI  A  CLUE  GOES  TO  SLEEP    ....  121 

XVII  PHILIP  HARRIS  WAKES  UP    .      .     .  125 

XVIII  "ONCE— I— SAW— " 131 

XIX  A  WOMAN  IN  THE  GARDEN     ...  136 

XX  THE  TEST  is  MADE 145 

XXI  A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS    ....  152 

XXII  "WHAT  DID  You  SEE?"    .      .      .      .  162 

XXIII  ACHILLES  HAS  A  PLAN  168 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV    IT  FLOATS  A  LITTLE 175 

XXV    AND  STABTS  OFF 182 

XXVI  AND  RACES  FOB  THE  CLUE    .      .      .  187 

XXVII  THE  LITTLE  WHITE  HOUSE    ...  192 

XXVIII  INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    ...  199 

XXIX    UPSTAIBS 21t 

XXX    ASLEEP 213 

XXXI      A  BUTTEBFLY  FLIGHT 217 

XXXII     AND  A  VOICE 224 

XXXIII  "WAKE  UP,   MBS.   SEABUBT!"     .     .  227 

XXXIV  THE  FLIGHT  OF  STABS     ....  234 
XXXV    AND  CLANGING  CABS 247 

XXXVI  THE  TELEPHONE  AGAIN     ....  252 

XXXVII  THE  BIG  BED  257 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

He   flung   the  words   from   him   like   a 

chant  of  music Frontispiece 

"They  are  two  children  together"  .     Facing  page  52 

Philip  Harris  enjoyed  it  as   if  he  were  playing 

with  the   stock   exchange  of  a  world     .      .   128 

"It  is  Betty— my  little  girl"    ...     ......   158 


Mr.  Achilles 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO 

ACHILLES  ALEXANDRAKIS  was  arranging 
the  fruit  on  his  stall  in  front  of  his  lit 
tle  shop  on  Clark  Street.  It  was  a 
clear,  breezy  morning,  cool  for  October, 
but  not  cold  enough  to  endanger  the 
fruit  that  Achilles  handled  so  deftly  in 
his  dark,  slender  fingers.  As  he  built 
the  oranges  into  their  yellow  pyramid 
and  grouped  about  them  figs  and  dates, 
melons  and  pears,  and  grapes  and  pine 
apples,  a  look  of  content  held  his  face. 
This  was  the  happiest  moment  of  his 
day. 

Already,  half  an  hour  ago,  Alcibiades 
and  Yaxis  had  departed  with  their  push 
carts,  one  to  the  north  and  one  to  the 
south,  calling  antiphonally  as  they  went, 
in  clear,  high  voices  that  came  faint 
er  and  fainter  to  Achilles  among  his 
fruit. 


2  MR.  ACHILLES 

They  would  not  return  until  night,  and 
then  they  would  come  with  empty  carts, 
and  jingling  in  their  pockets  coppers  and 
nickels  and  dimes.  The  breath  of  a  sigh 
escaped  Achilles 's  lips  as  he  stood  back 
surveying  the  stall.  Something  very 
like  homesickness  was  in  his  heart.  He 
had  almost  fancied  for  the  minute  that 
he  was  back  once  more  in  Athens.  He 
raised  his  eyes  and  gave  a  quick,  deep 
glance  up  and  down  the  street — soot  and 
dirt  and  grime,  frowning  buildings  and 
ugly  lines,  and  overhead  a  meagre  strip 
of  sky.  Over  Athens  the  sky  hung 
glorious,  a  curve  of  light  from  side  to 
side.  His  soul  flew  wide  to  meet  it. 
Once  more  he  was  swinging  along  the 
1  'Street  of  the  Winds,"  his  face  lifted 
to  the  Parthenon  on  its  Acropolis,  his 
nostrils  breathing  the  clear  air. 
Chicago  had  dropped  from  him  like  a 
garment,  his  soul  rose  and  floated.  .  .  . 
Athens  everywhere — column  and  cor 
nice,  and  long,  delicate  lines,  and  colour 
of  marble  and  light.  He  drew  a  full, 
sweet  breath. 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO      3 

"How  much  for  them  peaches?" 

Achilles 's  eye  returned  from  Athens; 
it  dropped  through  grey  soot.  "Five 
cen's,"  he  said,  dreamily. 

The  young  woman's  back  was  turned 
to  him.  She  was  hurrying  on. 

"You  no  want  them?"  said  Achilles, 
gently. 

There  was  no  reply.  The  young 
woman  was  gone. 

Achilles  sighed  a  little  and  picked  up 
the  basket  beside  him  and  entered  the 
little  shop.  It  was  darker  within, 
darker  than  in  the  street.  The  light 
came,  almost  grudgingly,  through  the 
open  window  and  door;  and  only  the 
glowing  yellow  disks  of  oranges  and 
lemons  and  grapefruit  relieved  its 
gloom.  Achilles  placed  the  basket  care 
fully  on  a  side  shelf  and  turned  once 
more  to  the  street.  A  man  had  paused 
before  the  stall,  looking  down.  Achilles 
hastened  to  the  door,  welcome  in  his 
dark  face. 

The  man  looked  up.  There  was  a 
deep  line  between  his  eyes.  It  focussed 


4  MR.  ACHILLES 

the  piercing  glance.  ''How  much  for 
your  melons  ?" 

Achilles  moved  forward  with  quick, 
stately  step.  He  wore  a  seersucker 
coat  and  black  cotton  trousers,  but  for 
the  moment  he  had  forgotten  that  his 
garments  did  not  float  a  little  as  he 
moved.  He  ran  a  hand  along  the 
smooth,  green,  crinkling  stripes  of  the 
melon.  "Thirty-five,  these — forty,  these 
ones,"  he  said,  courteously. 

The  man  lifted  an  eye.  ' '  Got  a  paper— 
for  the  address?  I  want  them  sent." 

"I  take  in  my  haid,"  said  Achilles, 
with  clear  glance. 

The  man  hesitated  a  second.  "All 
right.  Don't  forget;  1383  Sheridan 
Road.  Send  four.  They'll  pay  when 
you  deliver." 

"I  send  right  off,"  said  Achilles, 
cheerfully.  "I  pick  you  nice  ones. 
Good  day,  sir." 

But  the  man  was  gone — without  re 
sponse — far  down  the  street,  and  the 
crowd  was  shoving  past.  The  day  had 
begun.  In  and  out  of  the  gloomy  shop 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO       5 

Achilles  moved  with  quick,  gliding  step, 
taking  orders,  filling  bags,  making 
change — always  with  his  dark  eyes  seek 
ing,  a  little  wistfully,  something  that  did 
not  come  to  them.  ...  It  was  all  so  dif 
ferent — this  new  world.  Achilles  had 
been  in  Chicago  six  months  now,  but 
he  had  not  yet  forgotten  a  dream  that 
he  had  dreamed  in  Athens.  Sometimes 
he  dreamed  it  still,  and  then  he  wondered 
whether  this,  about  him,  were  not  all 
a  dream — this  pushing,  scrambling, 
picking,  hurrying,  choosing  crowd,  drop 
ping  pennies  and  dimes  into  his  curv 
ing  palm,  swearing  softly  at  slow 
change,  and  flying  fast  from  street  to 
street.  It  was  not  thus  in  his  dream. 
He  had  seen  a  land  of  new  faces,  turned 
eyer  to  the  West,  with  the  light  on  them. 
He  had  known  them,  in  his  dream — 
eager  faces,  full  of  question  and  quick 
response.  His  soul  had  gone  out  to 
them  and,  musing  in  sunny  Athens,  he 
had  made  ready  for  them.  Each  morn 
ing  when  he  rose  he  had  lifted  his  glance 
to  the  Parthenon,  studying  anew  the 


6  MR.  ACHILLES 

straight  lines — that  were  yet  not  straight 
— the  mysterious,  dismantled  beauty,  the 
mighty  lift  of  its  presence.  When  they 
should  question  him,  in  this  new  land, 
he  must  not  fail  them.  They  would  be 
hungry  for  the  beauty  of  the  ancient 
world — they  who  had  no  ruins  of  their 
own.  He  knew  in  his  heart  how  it 
would  be  with  them — the  homesick 
ness  for  the  East — all  its  wonder  and 
its  mystery.  Yes,  he  would  carry 
it  to  them.  He,  Achilles  Alexandrakis, 
should  not  be  found  wanting.  This  new 
world  was  to  give  him  money,  wealth, 
better  education  for  his  boys,  a  com 
petent  old  age.  But  he,  too,  had  some 
thing  to  give  in  exchange.  He  must 
make  himself  ready  against  the  great 
day  when  he  should  travel  down  the 
long  way  of  the  Piraeus,  for  the  last  time, 
and  set  sail  for  America. 

He  was  in  America  now.  He  knew, 
when  he  stopped  to  think,  that  this  was1 
not  a  dream.  He  had  been  here  six 
months,  in  the  little  shop  on  Clark 
Street,  but  no  one  had  yet  asked  him 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO      7 

of  the  Parthenon.  Sometimes  he 
thought  that  they  did  not  know  that  he 
was  Greek.  Perhaps  if  they  knew  that 
he  had  been  in  Athens,  had  lived  there 
all  his  life  from  a  boy,  they  would  ques 
tion  him.  The  day  that  he  first  thought 
of  this,  he  had  ordered  a  new  sign 
painted.  It  bore  his  name  in  Greek 
characters,  and  it  was  beautiful  in  line 
and  colour.  It  caused  his  stand  to  be 
come  known  far  and  wide  as  the  ' '  Greek 
Shop,"  and  within  a  month  after  it  was 
put  up  his  trade  had  doubled — but  no 
one  had  asked  about  the  Parthenon. 

He  had  really  ceased  to  hope  for  it 
now.  He  only  dreamed  the  dream,  a  lit 
tle  wistfully,  as  he  went  in  and  out,  and 
his  thought  dwelt  always  on  Athens  and 
her  beauty.  The  images  stamped  so 
carefully  on  his  sensitive  brain  became 
his  most  precious  treasures.  Over  and 
over  he  dwelt  on  them.  Ever  in  mem 
ory  his  feet  climbed  the  steps  to  the 
Acropolis  or  walked  beneath  stately 
orange-trees,  beating  a  soft  rhythm  to 
the  sound  of  flute  and  viol.  For  Achil- 


8  MR.  ACHILLES 

les  was  by  nature  one  of  the  lightest- 
hearted  of  children.  In  Athens  his 
laugh  had  been  quick  to  rise,  and  fresh 
as  the  breath  of  rustling  leaves.  It 
was  only  here,  under  the  sooty  sky  of 
the  narrow  street,  that  his  face  had 
grown  a  little  sad. 

At  first  the  days  had  been  full  of 
hope,  and  the  face  of  each  newcomer 
had  been  scanned  with  eager  eyes.  The 
fruit,  sold  so  courteously  and  freely, 
was  hardly  more  than  an  excuse  for  the 
opening  of  swift  talk.  But  the  talk  had 
never  come.  There  was  the  inevitable 
and  never-varying,  "How  much?"  the 
passing  of  coin,  and  hurrying  feet. 
Soon  a  chill  had  crept  into  the  heart  of 
Achilles.  They  did  not  ask  of  Athens. 
They  did  not  know  that  he  was  Greek. 
They  did  not  care  that  his  name  was 
Achilles.  They  did  not  see  him  stand 
ing  there  with  waiting  eyes.  He  might 
have  been  a  banana  on  its  stem,  a  fig- 
leaf  against  the  wall,  the  dirt  that  grit 
ted  beneath  their  feet,  for  all  that  their 
eyes  took  note.  .  .  .  Yet  they  were  not 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO      9 

cruel  or  thoughtless.  Sometimes  there 
came  a  belated  response — half  sur 
prised,  but  cordial — to  his  gentle  "good 
day."  Sometimes  a  stranger  said, 
"The  day  is  warm,"  or,  "The  breeze 
from  the  Lake  is  cool  to-day."  Then 
the  eyes  of  Achilles  glowed  like  soft 
stars  in  their  places.  Surely  now  they 
would  speak.  They  would  say,  "Is  it 
thus  in  Greece?"  But  they  never 
spoke.  And  the  days  hurried  their 
swift  feet  through  the  long,  dirty 
streets. 

A  tall  woman  in  spectacles  was  com 
ing  toward  him,  sniffing  the  air  a  little 
as  she  moved.  "Have  you  got  any 
bananas  f ' ' 

"Yes.  They  nice."  He  led  the  way 
into  the  shop  and  reached  to  the  swing 
ing  bunch.  "You  like  some?"  he  said, 
encouragingly. 

She  sniffed  a  step  nearer.  "Too 
ripe,"  decisively. 

"Yes-s.  But  here  and  here — "  He 
twirled  the  bunch  skilfully  on  its  string. 
"These — not  ripe,  and  these."  His 


10  MR.  ACHILLES 

sunny  smile  spread  their  gracious  ac- 
ceptableness  before  her. 

She  wrinkled  her  forehead  at  them. 
"Well — you  might  as  well  cut  me  off 
six." 

"A  pleasure,  madame."  He  had 
seized  the  heavy  knife. 

"Give  me  that  one."  It  was  a  large 
one  near  the  centre;  "and  this  one 
here — and  here." 

When  the  six  were  selected  and  cut 
off  they  were  the  cream  of  the  bunch. 
She  eyed  them  doubtfully,  still  scowl 
ing  a  little.  "Yes.  I'll  take  these." 

The  Greek  bowed  gravely  over  the 
coin  she  droppd  into  his  palm. 
"Thank  you,  madame." 

It  was  later  now,  and  the  crowd 
moved  more  slowly,  with  longer  pauses 
between  the  buyers. 

A  boy  with  a  bag  of  books  stopped 
for  an  apple.  Two  children  with  their 
nurse  halted  a  moment,  looking  at  the 
glowing  fruit.  The  eyes  of  the  chil 
dren  were  full  of  light  and  question. 
Somewhere  in  their  depths  Achilles 


ACHILLES  GOES  TO  CHICAGO     11 

caught  a  flitting  shadow  of  the  Parthe 
non.  Then  the  nurse  hurried  them  on, 
and  they,  too,  were  gone. 

He  turned  away  with  a  little  sigh,  ar 
ranging  the  fruit  in  his  slow  absent 
way.  Something  at  the  side  of  the  stall 
caught  his  eye,  a  little  movement  along 
the  board,  in  and  out  through  the  colour 
and  leaves.  He  lifted  a  leaf  to  see.  It 
was  a  green  and  black  caterpillar, 
crawling  with  stately  hunch  to  the  back 
of  the  stall.  Achilles  watched  him  with 
gentle  eyes.  Then  he  leaned  over,  the 
stall  and  reached  out  a  long  finger. 
The  caterpillar,  poised  in  midair,  re 
mained  swaying  back  and  forth  above 
the  dark  obstruction.  Slowly  it  de 
scended  and  hunched  itself  anew  along 
the  finger.  It  travelled  up  the  motion 
less  hand  and  reached  the  sleeve.  With 
a  smile  on  his  lips  Achilles  entered  the 
shop.  Pie  took  down  an  empty  fig-box 
and  transferred  the  treasure  to  its 
depths,  dropping  in  after  it  one  or  two 
leaves  and  a  bit  of  twig.  He  fitted  the 
lid  to  the  box,  leaving  a  little  air,  and 


12  MR.  ACHILLES 

taking  the  pen  from  his  desk,  wrote 
across  the  side  in  clear  Greek  letters 
"neraloDSa."  Then  he  placed  the  box  on 
the  shelf  behind  him,  where  the  wet  ink 
of  the  lettering  glistened  faintly  in  the 
light.  It  was  a  bit  of  the  heart  of  Ath 
ens  prisoned  there;  and  many  times, 
through  the  cold  and  snow  and  bitter 
sleet  of  that  winter,  Achilles  took  down 
the  fig-box  and  peered  into  its  depths 
at  a  silky  bit  of  grey  cradle  swung  from 
the  side  of  the  box  by  its  delicate  bands. 


n 

A   BUTTERFLY   SPREADS    ITS    WINGS 

IT  happened,  on  a  Wednesday  in  May, 
that  Madame  Lewandowska  was  ill. 
So  ill  that  when  Betty  Harris,  with  her 
demure  music-roll  in  her  hand,  tapped 
at  the  door  of  Madame  Lewandowska 's 
studio,  she  found  no  one  within. 

On  ordinary  days  this  would  not  have 
mattered,  for  the  governess,  Miss  Stone, 
would  have  been  with  her,  and  they 
would  have  gone  shopping  or  sightsee 
ing  until  the  hour  was  up  and  James 
returned.  But  to-day  Miss  Stone,  too, 
was  ill,  James  had  departed  with  the 
carriage,  and  Betty  Harris  found  her 
self  standing,  music-roll  in  hand,  at  the 
door  of  Madame  Lewandowska 's  studio 
— alone  in  the  heart  of  Chicago  for  the 
first  time  in  the  twelve  years  of  her  life. 

It  had  been  a  very  carefully  guarded 
life,  with  nurses  and  servants  and  in- 

13 


14  MR.  ACHILLES 

structors.  No  little  princess  was  ever 
more  sternly  and  conscientiously  reared 
than  little  Betty  Harris,  of  Chicago. 
For  her  tiny  sake,  herds  of  cattle  were 
slaughtered  every  day;  and  all  over  the 
land  hoofs  and  hides  and  by-products 
and  soap-factories  lifted  themselves  to 
heaven  for  Betty  Harris.  If  anything 
were  to  happen  to  her,  the  business  of 
a  dozen  States  would  quiver  to  the  core. 
She  tapped  the  marble  floor  softly 
with  her  foot  and  pondered.  She 
might  sit  here  in  the  hall  and  wait  for 
James — a  whole  hour.  There  was  a 
bench  by  the  wall.  She  looked  at  it 
doubtfully.  ...  It  was  not  seemly  that 
a  princess  should  sit  waiting  for  a  serv 
ant — not  even  in  marble  halls.  She 
glanced  about  her  again.  There  was 
probably  a  telephone  somewhere — per 
haps  on  the  ground  floor.  She  could  tel 
ephone  home  and  they  would  send  an 
other  carriage.  Yes,  that  would  be 
best.  She  rang  the  elevator  bell  and 
descended  in  stately  silence.  When 
she  stepped  out  of  the  great  door 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WIXGS     15 

of  the  building  she  saw,  straight  be 
fore  her,  the  sign  she  sought — "Pay 
Station." 

But  then  something  happened  to 
Betty  Harris.  The  spirit  of  the  spring 
day  caught  her  and  lifted  her  out  of  her 
self.  Men  were  hurrying  by  with  light 
step.  Little  children  laughed  as  they 
ran.  Betty  skipped  a  few  steps  and 
laughed  softly  with  them.  .  .  .  She 
would  walk  home.  It  was  not  far.  She 
had  often  walked  as  far  in  the  country, 
and  she  knew  the  way  quite  well.  .  .  . 
And  when  she  looked  up  again,  she 
stood  in  front  of  the  glowing  fruit-stall, 
and  Achilles  Alexandrakis  was  regard 
ing  her  with  deep,  sad  eyes. 

Achilles  had  been  dreaming  down  the 
street  when  the  little  figure  came  in 
sight.  His  heart  all  day  had  been  full 
of  sadness — for  the  spring  in  the  air. 
And  all  day  Athens  had  haunted  his 
steps — the  Athens  of  dreams.  Once 
when  he  had  retired  into  the  dark,  cool 
shop,  he  brushed  his  sleeve  across  his 
eyes,  and  then  he  had  stood  looking 


16  ME.  ACHILLES 

down  in  surprise  at  something  that  glis 
tened  on  its  worn  surface. 

Betty  Harris  looked  at  him  and 
smiled.  She  had  been  so  carefully 
brought  up  that  she  had  not  learned  that 
some  people  were  her  inferiors  and 
must  not  be  smiled  at.  She  gave  him 
the  straight,  sweet  smile  that  those  who 
had  cared  for  her  all  her  life  loved  so 
well.  Then  she  gave  a  little  nod. 
"I'm  walking  home,"  she  said. 

Achilles  leaned  forward  a  little,  al 
most  holding  his  breath  lest  she  float 
from  him.  It  was  the  very  spirit  of 
Athens — democratic,  cultured,  naive. 
He  gave  her  the  salute  of  his  country. 
She  smiled  again.  Then  her  eye  fell  on 
the  tray  of  pomegranates  near  the  edge 
of  the  stall — round  and  pink.  She 
reached  out  a  hand.  "I  have  never 
seen  these,"  she  said,  slowly.  "What 
are  they?" 

"Pomegranates —  Yes —  you  like 
some?  I  give  you." 

He  disappeared  into  the  shop  and 
Betty  followed  him,  looking  about  with 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS     17 

clear,  interested  eyes.  It  was  like  no 
place  she  had  ever  seen — this  cool,  dark 
room,  with  its  tiers  on  tiers  of  fruit,  and 
the  fragrant,  spicy  smell,  and  the  man 
with  the  sad,  kind  face.  Her  quick  eye 
paused — arrested  by  the  word  printed 
on  a  box  on  the  shelf  to  the  right.  .  .  . 
Ah,  that  was  it!  She  knew  now  quite 
well.  He  was  a  Greek  man.  She 
knew  the  letters ;  she  had  studied  Greek 
for  six  months;  but  she  did  not  know 

this  word — "jr-e-r-a-A "  She  was. 

still  spelling  it  out  when  Achilles  re 
turned  with  the  small  box  of  pomegran 
ates  in  his  hand. 

She  looked  up  slowly.  "I  can't  quite 
make  it  out,"  she  said. 

"That?"  Achilles 's  face  was  alight. 
"That  is  Greek." 

She  nodded.  "I  know.  I  study  it; 
but  what  is  it — the  word?" 

"The  word? — Ah,  yes,  it  is —  How 
you  say?  You  shall  see." 

He  reached  out  a  hand  to  the  box. 
But  the  child  stopped  him.  A  quick 
thought  had  come  to  her. — "You  have 


18  MR.  ACHILLES 

been  in  Athens,  haven't  you?  I  want 
to  ask  you  something,  please." 

The  hand  dropped  from  the  box. 
The  man  turned  about,  waiting.  If 
heaven  were  to  open  to  him  now — ! 

"I've  always  wanted  to  see  a  Greek 
man,"  said  the  child,  slowly, — "a  real 
Greek  man.  I've  wanted  to  ask  him 
something  he  would  know  about.  Have 
you  ever  seen  the  Parthenon?"  She 
put  the  question  with  quaint  serious 
ness. 

A  light  came  into  the  eyes  of  Achil 
les  Alexandrakis.  It  flooded  the 
room. 

''You  ask  me — the  Parthenon?"  he 
said,  solemnly.  "You  wish  me — tell 
that?"  It  was  wistful — almost  a  cry 
of  longing. 

Betty  Harris  nodded  practically. 
"I've  always  wanted  to  know  about  it — 
the  Parthenon.  They  tell  you  how  long 
it  is,  and  how  wide,  and  what  it  is 
made  of,  and  who  began  it,  and  who  fin 
ished  it,  and  who  destroyed  it,  but  they 
never,  never" — she  raised  her  small 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS     19 

hand  impressively — "they  never  tell 
you  how  it  looks!" 

Achilles  brought  a  chair  and  placed  it 
near  the  open  door.  "Will  it — kindly 
—you  sit!"  he  said,  gravely. 

She  seated  herself,  folding  her  hands 
above  the  music-roll,  and  lifting  her 
eyes  to  the  dark  face  looking  down  at 
her.  "Thank  you." 

Achilles  leaned  back  against  the  coun 
ter,  thinking  a  little.  He  sighed  gen 
tly.  "I  tell  you  many  things,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"About  the  Parthenon,  please,"  said 
Betty  Harris. 

"You  like  Athens?"  He  said  it  like 
a  child. 

"I  should  like  it — if  they  would  tell 
me  real  things.  I  don't  seem  to  make 
them  understand.  But  when  they  say 
how  beautiful  it  is — I  feel  it  here." 
She  laid  her  small  hand  to  her  side. 

The  smile  of  Achilles  held  glory  in  its 
depths.  "I  tell  you,"  he  said. 

The  clear  face  reflected  the  smile.  A 
breath  of  waiting  held  the  lips.  "Yes.'* 


20  MR.  ACHILLES 

Achilles  leaned  again  upon  his  coun 
ter.  His  face  was  rapt,  and  he  spread 
his  finger-tips  a  little,  as  if  something 
within  them  stirred  to  be  free. 

"It  stands  so  high  and  lifts  itself" — 
Achilles  raised  his  dark  hands — • 
"ruined  there — so  great — and  far  be 
neath,  the  city  lies,  drawing  near  and 
near,  and  yet  it  cannot  reach.  .  .  .  And 
all  around  is  light — and  light — and 
light.  Here  it  is  a  cellar"-— his  hands 
closed  in  with  crushing  touch — "but 
there — !"  He  flung  the  words  from 
him  like  a  chant  of  music,  and  a  sky 
stretched  about  them  from  side  to  side, 
blue  as  sapphire  and  shedding  radiant 
light  upon  the  city  in  its  midst — a  city 
of  fluted  column  and  curving  cornice 
and  temple  and  arch  and  tomb.  The 
words  rolled  on,  fierce  and  eager.  It 
was  a  song  of  triumph,  with  war  and 
sorrow  and  mystery  running  beneath 
the  sound  of  joy.  And  the  child,  listen 
ing  with  grave,  clear  eyes,  smiled  a  lit 
tle,  holding  her  breath.  "I  see  it — I 
see  it  I"  She  half  whispered  the  words. 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS    21 

Achilles  barely  looked  at  her.  "You 
see — ah,  yes — you  see.  But  I — I  have 
not  words ! "  It  was  almost  a  cry.  .  .  . 
"The  air,  so  clear — like  wine — and  the 
pillars  straight  and  high  and  big — but 
light — light — reaching.  ..."  His  soul 
was  among  them,  soaring  high.  Then 
it  returned  to  earth  and  he  remembered 
the  child. 

"And  there  is  an  olive-tree,"  he  said, 
kindly,  "and  a  well  where  Poseidon — " 

"I've  heard  about  the  well  and  the 
olive-tree,"  said  the  child;  "I  don't 
care  so  much  about  them.  But  all  the 
rest —  She  drew  a  quick  breath.  "It 
is  very  beautiful.  I  knew  it  would  be. 
I  knew  it  would  be!" 

There  was  silence  in  the  room. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  said 
Betty  Harris.  "Now  I  must  go." 
She  slipped  from  the  chair  with  a  little 
sigh.  She  stood  looking  about  the  dim 
shop.  "Now  I  must  go,"  she  repeated, 
wistfully. 

Achilles  moved  a  step  toward  the 
shelf.  "Yes — but  wait — I  will  show 


22  MR.  ACHILLES 

you."  He  reached  up  to  the  box  and 
took  it  down  lightly.  ''I  show  you." 
He  was  removing  the  cover. 

The  child  leaned  forward  with  shin 
ing  eyes. 

A  smile  came  into  the  dark,  grave 
face  looking  into  the  box.  "Ah,  he  has 
blossomed — for  you."  He  held  it  out 
to  her. 

She  took  it  in  shy  fingers,  bending  to 
it.  "It  is  beautiful,"  she  said,  softly. 
«Yes--beautiful!" 

The  dark  wings,  with  shadings  of 
gold  and  tender  blue,  lifted  themselves 
a  little,  waiting. 

The  child  looked  up.  "May  I  touch 
it?"  she  asked. 

"Ye&—     But  why  not!" 

The  dark  head  was  bent  close  to  hers, 
watching  the  wonderful  wings. 

Slowly  Betty  Harris  put  out  a  finger 
and  stroked  the  wings. 

They  fluttered  a  little — opened  wide 
and  rose — in  their  first  flutter  of  light. 

"Oh!"  It  was  a  cry  of  delight  from 
the  child. 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS    23 

The  great  creature  had  settled  on  the 
bunch  of  bananas  and  hung  swaying. 
The  gold  and  blue  wings  opened  and 
closed  slowly. 

Achilles  drew  near  and  put  out  a  fin 
ger. 

The  butterfly  was  on  it. 

He  held  it  toward  her,  smiling  gently, 
and  she  reached  up,  her  very  breath  on 
tiptoe.  A  little  smile  curved  her  lips, 
quick  and  wondering,  as  the  transfer 
was  made,  thread  by  thread,  till  the  gor 
geous  thing  rested  on  her  own  palm. 

She  looked  up.  "What  shall  I  do 
with  it?"  It  was  a  shining  whisper. 

Achilles 's  eyes  sought  the  door. 

They  moved  toward  it  slowly,  light 
as  breath. 

In  the  open  doorway  they  paused. 
Above  the  tall  buildings  the  grey  rim  of 
sky  lifted  itself.  The  child  looked  up 
to  it.  Her  eyes  returned  to  Achilles. 

He  nodded  gravely. 

She  raised  her  hand  with  a  little 
"p-f-f "  —it  was  half  a  quick  laugh  and 
half  a  sigh. 


24  ME.  ACHILLES 

The  wings  fluttered  free,  and  rose, 
and  faltered,  and  rose  again — high  and 
higher,  between  the  dark  walls — up  to 
the  sky,  into  the  grey — and  through. 

The  eyes  that  had  followed  it  came 
back  to  earth.  They  looked  at  each 
other  and  smiled  gravely — two  children 
who  had  seen  a  happy  thing. 

The  child  stood  still  with  half-lifted 
hand.  ...  A  carriage  drove  quickly 
into  the  street.  The  little  hand  was 
lifted  higher.  It  was  a  regal  gesture — 
the  return  of  the  princess  to  earth. 

James  touched  his  hat — a  look  of  dis 
may  and  relief  battling  in  his  face  as 
he  turned  the  horses  sharply  to  the 
right.  They  paused  in  front  of  the 
stall,  their  hoofs  beating  dainty  time  to 
the  coursing  of  their  blood. 

Achilles  eyed  them  lovingly.  The 
spirit  of  Athens  dwelt  in  their  arching 
necks. 

He  opened  the  door  for  the  child  with 
the  quiet  face  and  shining  eyes. 
Gravely  he  salaamed  as  she  entered  the 
carriage. 


A  BUTTERFLY  SPREADS  ITS  WINGS     25 

Through  the  window  she  held  out  a 
tiny  hand.  "I  hope  you  will  come  and 
see  me,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  come,"  said  Achilles,  simply. 
"I  like  to  come." 

James  dropped  a  waiting  eye. 

"Home,  James." 

The  horses  sprang  away.  Achilles 
Alexandrakis,  bareheaded  in  the  spring 
sunshine,  watched  the  carriage  till  it 
was  out  of  sight.  Then  he  turned  once 
more  to  the  stall  and  rearranged  the 
fruit.  The  swift  fingers  laughed  a  lit 
tle  as  they  worked,  and  the  eyes  of 
Achilles  were  filled  with  light. 


m 


''MOTHER-DEAR!"  It  was  the  voice  of 
Betty  Harris — eager,  triumphant,  with 
a  little  laugh  running  through  it. 
"  Mother-dear!" 

"Yes — Betty — "  The  woman  seated 
at  the  dark  mahogany  desk  looked  up, 
a  little  line  between  her  eyes.  ''You 
have  come,  child?"  It  was  half  a  ca 
ress.  She  put  out  an  absent  hand, 
drawing  the  child  toward  her  while  she 
finished  her  note. 

The  child  stood  by  gravely,  looking 
with  shining  eyes  at  the  face  bending 
above  the  paper.  It  was  a  handsome 
face  with  clear,  hard  lines — the  reddish 
hair  brushed  up  conventionally  from 
the  temples,  and  the  skin  a  little  pallid 
under  its  careful  massage  and  skilfully 
touched  surface. 

To  Betty  Harris  her  mother  was  the 


BETTY'S  MOTHER  HEARS  A  STORY    27 

most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world — 
more  beautiful  than  the  marble  Venus 
at  the  head  of  the  long  staircase,  or  the 
queenly  lady  in  the  next  room,  forever 
stepping  down  from  her  gilded  frame 
into  the  midst  of  tapestry  and  leather 
in  the  library.  It  may  have  been  that 
Betty's  mother  was  quite  as  much  a 
work  of  art  in  her  way  as  these  other 
treasures  that  had  come  from  the  Old 
World.  But  to  Betty  Harris,  who  had 
slight  knowledge  of  art  values,  her 
mother  was  beautiful,  because  her  eyes 
had  little  points  of  light  in  them  that 
danced  when  she  laughed,  and  her  lips 
curved  prettily,  like  a  bow,  if  she 
smiled. 

They  curved  now  as  she  looked  up 
from  her  note.  "Well,  daughter?" 
She  had  sealed  the  note  and  laid  it  one 
side.  "Was  it  a  good  lesson?"  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair,  stroking  the 
child's  hand  softly,  while  her  eyes  trav 
elled  over  the  quaint,  dignified  little  fig 
ure.  The  child  was  a  Velasquez — peo 
ple  had  often  remarked  it,  and  the 


28  MR.  ACHILLES 

mother  had  taken  the  note  that  gave  to 
her  clothes  the  regal  air  touched  with 
simplicity.  "So  it  was  a  good  lesson, 
was  it?"  she  repeated,  absently,  as  she 
stroked  the  small  dark  hand — her  own 
figure  graciously  outlined  as  she  leaned 
back  enjoying  the  lifted  face  and 
straight,  clear  eyes. 

"Mother-dear!"  The  child's  voice 
vibrated  with  the  intensity  behind  it. 
"I  have  seen  a  man — a  very  good 
man!" 

"Yes?"  There  was  a  little  laugh  in 
the  word.  She  was  accustomed  to  the 
child's  enthusiasms.  Yet  they  were  al 
ways  new  to  her — even  the  old  ones 
were.  "Who  was  he,  daughter — this 
very  good  man?" 

"He  is  a  Greek,  mother — with  a  long, 
beautiful  name — I  don't  think  I  can  tell 
it  to  you.  But  he  is  most  wonderful — ! ' ' 
The  child  spread  her  hands  and  drew  a 
deep  breath. 

"More  wonderful  than  father?"  It 
was  an  idle,  laughing  question — while 
she  studied  the  lifted-up  face. 


BETTY'S  MOTHER  HEARS  A  STORY     29 

"More  wonderful  than  father — 
yes—  The  child  nodded  gravely. 
"I  can't  quite  tell  you,  mother-dear, 
how  it  feels—  She  laid  a  tiny  hand 
on  her  chest.  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
thought.  "He  speaks  like  music,  and 
he  loves  things — oh,  very  much ! ' ' 

"I  see —  And  did  Madame  Lewan- 
dowska  introduce  you  to  him?" 

"Oh,  it  was  not  there."  The  child's 
face  cleared  with  a  swift  thought.  "I 
didn't  tell  you — Madame  was  ill — " 

The  reclining  figure  straightened  a 
little  in  its  place,  but  the  face  was  still 
smiling.  "So  you  and  Miss  Stone— 

"But  Miss  Stone  is  ill,  mother-dear. 
Did  you  forget  her  toothache?"  The 
tone  was  politely  reproachful. 

The  woman  was  very  erect  now — her 
small  eyes,  grown  wide,  gazing  at  the 
child,  devouring  her.  "Betty!  Where 
have  you  been?"  It  was  more  a  cry 
than  a  question — a  cry  of  dismay,  run 
ning  swiftly  toward  terror.  ...  It  was 
the  haunting  fear  of  her  life  that  Betty 
would  some  day  be  kidnapped,  as  the 


30  MR.  ACHILLES 

child  next  door  had  been.  .  .  .  The  fin 
gers  resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 
were  held  tense. 

"I  don't  think  I  did  wrong,  mother." 
The  child  was  looking  at  her  very 
straight,  as  if  answering  a  challenge. 
"You  see,  I  walked  home— 

"Where  was  James?"  The  woman's 
tone  was  sharp,  and  her  hand  reached 
toward  the  bell;  but  the  child's  hand 
moved  softly  toward  it. 

"I'd  like  to  tell  you  about  it  myself, 
please,  mother.  James  never  waits  for 
the  lessons.  I  don't  think  he  was  to 
blame. ' ' 

The  woman's  eyes  were  veiled  with 
sudden  mist.  She  drew  the  child  close. 
"Tell  mother  about  it." 

Betty  Harris  looked  down,  stroking 
her  mother's  sleeve.  A  little  smile  of 
memory  held  her  lips.  "He  was  a  beau 
tiful  man!"  she  said. 

The  mother  waited,  breathless. 

"I  was  walking  home,  and  I  came  to 
his  shop — 

"To  his  shop!" 


BETTY'S  MOTHER  HEARS  A  STORY    31 

She  nodded  reassuringly.  "His 
fruit-shop — and — oh,  I  forgot — "  She 
reached  into  the  little  bag  at  her  side, 
tugging  at  something.  "He  gave  me 
these."  She  produced  the  round  box 
and  took  off  the  lid,  looking  into  it  with 
pleased  eyes.  "Aren't  they  beauti 
ful?" 

The  mother  bent  blindly  to  it. 
"Pomegranates,"  she  said.  Her  lips 
were  still  a  little  white,  but  they  smiled 
bravely  with  the  child's  pleasure. 

"Pomegranates,"  said  Betty,  nod 
ding.  "That  is  what  he  called 
them.  I  should  like  to  taste  one — " 
She  was  looking  at  them  a  little  wist 
fully. 

"We  will  have  them  for  luncheon," 
said  the  mother.  She  had  touched  the 
bell  with  quick  decision. 

"Marie" — she  held  out  the  box — 
"tell  Nesmer  to  serve  these  with  lunch 
eon." 

"Am  I  to  have  luncheon  with  you, 
mother-dear?"  The  child's  eyes  were 
on  her  mother's  face. 


82  MR.  ACHILLES 

"With  me — yes."  The  reply  was 
prompt — if  a  little  tremulous. 

The  child  sighed  happily.  "It  is  be 
ing  a  marvellous  day,"  she  said, 
quaintly. 

The  mother  smiled.  "Come  and  get 
ready  for  luncheon,  and  then  you  shall 
tell  me  about  the  wonderful  man." 

So  it  came  about  that  Betty  Harris, 
seated  across  the  dark,  shining  table, 
told  her  mother,  Mrs.  Philip  Harris,  a 
happy  adventure  wherein  she,  Betty 
Harris,  who  had  never  before  set  foot 
unattended  in  the  streets  of  Chicago, 
had  wandered  for  an  hour  and  more  in 
careless  freedom,  and  straying  at  last 
into  the  shop  of  a  marvellous  Greek- 
one  Achilles  Alexandrakis  by  name — 
had  heard  strange  tales  of  Greece  and 
Athens  and  the  Parthenon — tales  at  the 
very  mention  of  which  her  eyes  danced 
and  her  voice  rippled. 

And  her  mother,  listening  across  the 
table,  trembled  at  the  dangers  the  child 
touched  upon  and  flitted  past.  It  had 
been  part  of  the  careful  rearing  of 


BETTY'S  MOTHER  HEARS  A  STORY    33 

Betty  Harris  that  she  should  not  guess 
that  the  constant  attendance  upon  her 
was  a  body-guard — such  as  might  wait 
upon  a  princess.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  Betty  Harris  that  other  little  girls 
were  not  guarded  from  the  moment  they 
rose  in  the  morning  till  they  went  to  bed 
at  night,  and  that  even  at  night  Miss 
Stone  slept  within  sound  of  her  breath. 
She  had  grown  up  happy  and  care-free, 
with  no  suspicion  of  the  danger  that 
threatened  the  child  of  a  marked  mil 
lionaire.  She  did  not  even  know  that 
her  father  was  a  very  rich  man — so  pro 
tected  had  she  been.  She  was  only  a 
little  more  simple  than  most  children 
of  twelve.  And  she  met  the  world  with 
straight,  shining  looks,  speaking  to  rich 
and  poor  with  a  kind  of  open  simplicity 
that  won  the  heart. 

Her  mother,  watching  the  clear  eyes, 
had  a  sudden  pang  of  what  the  morning 
might  have  been — the  disillusionment 
and  terror  of  this  unprotected  hour — 
that  had  been  made  instead  a  memory 
of  delight — thanks  to  an  unknown 


34  ME.  ACHILLES 

Greek  named  Achilles  Alexandrakis, 
who  had  told  her  of  the  beauties  of 
Greece  and  the  Parthenon,  and  had 
given  her  fresh  pomegranates  to  carry 
home  in  a  round  box.  The  mother's 
thoughts  rested  on  the  man  with  a  quick 
sense  of  gratitude.  He  should  be  paid 
a  thousand  times  over  for  his  care  of 
Betty  Harris — and  for  pomegranates. 

"They  are  like  the  Parthenon,"  said 
the  child,  holding  one  in  her  hand  and 
turning  it  daintily  to  catch  the  light  on 
its  pink  surface.  "They  grew  in  Ath 
ens."  She  set  her  little  teeth  firmly  in 
its  round  side. 


IV 

AND   ACHILLES    DREAMS 

ACHILLES,  in  his  little  shop,  went  in 
and  out  with  the  thought  of  the  child 
in  his  heart.  His  thin  fingers  flitted 
lightly  among  the  fruit.  The  sadness 
in  his  face  had  given  way  to  a  kind  of 
waking  joy  and  thoughtf ulness.  As  he 
made  change  and  did  up  bags  and  par 
cels  of  fruit,  his  thoughts  kept  hovering 
about  her,  and  his  lips  moved  in  a  soft 
smile,  half-muttering  again  the  words 
he  had  spoken  to  her — praises  of  Ath 
ens,  city  of  light,  sky  of  brightness, 
smiles,  and  running  talk.  ...  It  was  all 
with  him,  and  his  heart  was  free.  .  .  . 
How  the  child's  eyes  had  followed  the 
words,  full  of  trust !  He  should  see  her 
again — and  again.  .  .  .  Outside  a  halo 
rested  on  the  smoky  air  ...  a  little 
child,  out  of  the  rattle  and  din,  had 
spoken  to  him.  As  he  looked  up,  the 

35 


36  MR.  ACHILLES 

big,  sooty  city  became  softly  the  pres 
ence  of  the  child.  .  .  .  The  sound  of  pen 
nies  clinking  in  hurried  palms  was  no 
longer  harsh  upon  his  ears  -  they  tinkled 
softly — little  tunes  that  ran.  Truly  it 
had  been  a  wonderful  day  for  Achilles 
Alexandrakis. 

He  paused  in  his  work  and  looked 
about  the  little  shop.  The  same  dull- 
shining  rows  of  fruit,  the  same  spicy 
smell  and  the  glowing  disks  of  yellow 
light.  He  drew  a  deep,  full  breath.  It 
was  all  the  same,  but  the  world  was 
changed.  His  heart  that  had  ached  so 
long  with  its  pent-up  message  of  Greece 
— the  glory  of  her  days,  the  beauty  of 
temples  and  statues  and  tombs — was 
freed  by  the  tale  of  his  lips.  The 
world  was  new-born  for  him.  He  lifted 
the  empty  fig-box,  from  which  the  child 
had  set  free  the  butterfly  that  had  hung 
imprisoned  in  its  grey  cocoon  through 
the  long  winter,  and  placed  it  carefully 
on  the  shelf.  The  lettering  traced  along 
its  side — "  neTaloufa  " — was  faded  and 
dim;  but  he  saw  again  the  child's  eyes 


AND  ACHILLES  DREAMS         37 

lifted  to  it — the  lips  half-parted,  the 
eager  question  and  swift  demand — that 
he  should  tell  her  of  Athens  and  the 
Parthenon — and  the  same  love  and  the 
wonder  that  dwelt  in  his  own  heart  for 
the  city  of  his  birth.  It  was  a  strange 
coincidence  that  the  child  should  have 
come  to  him.  Perhaps  she  was  the  one 
soul  in  the  great,  hurrying  city  who 
could  care.  They  did  not  understand— 
these  hurrying,  breathless  men  and 
women — how  a  heart  could  ache  for 
something  left  behind  across  the  seas, 
a  city  of  quiet,  the  breath  of  the  Past- 
sorrow  and  joy  and  sweet  life.  .  .  . 
No,  they  could  not  understand!  But 
the  child—  He  caught  his  breath  a  lit 
tle.  .  .  .  Where  was  she — in  the  hurry 
and  rush?  He  had  not  thought  to 
ask.  .  .  .  And  she  was  gone !  Only  for  a 
moment  the  dark  face  clouded.  Then 
the  smile  flooded  again.  He  should  find 
her.  ...  It  might  be  hard — but  he 
would  search.  .  .  .  Had  he  not  come 
down  the  long  way  of  the  Piraeus  to  the 
sea — blue  in  the  sun.  Across  the  great 


38  MR.  ACHILLES 

waters  by  ship,  and  the  long  miles  by 
train.  He  should  find  her.  .  .  .  They 
would  talk  again.  He  laughed  quietly 
in  the  dusky  shop. 

Then  his  eye  fell  upon  it — the  music- 
roll  that  had  slipped  quietly  to  the  floor 
when  her  eager  hand  had  lifted  itself 
to  touch  the  butterfly,  opening  and  clos 
ing  his  great  wings  in  the  fig-box.  He 
crossed  to  it  and  lifted  it  almost  rever 
ently,  brushing  a  breath  of  dust  from  its 
leather  sides.  .  .  .  He  bent  closer  to  it, 
staring  at  a  little  silver  plate  that  swung 
from  the  strap.  He  carried  it  to  the 
window,  rubbing  it  on  the  worn  black 
sleeve,  and  bending  closer,  studying  the 
deep-cut  letters.  Then  he  lifted  his  head. 
A  quick  sigh  floated  from  him.  .  .  . 
Miss  Elizabeth  Harris,  108  Lake 
Shore  Drive.  .  .  .  He  knew  the  place 
quite  well — facing  the  lake,  where  the 
water  boomed  against  the  great  break 
water.  .  .  .  He  would  take  it  to  her — to 
morrow — the  next  day — next  week,  per 
haps.  .  .  .  He  wrapped  it  carefully; 
away  and  laid  it  in  a  drawer  to  wait. 
She  had  asked  him  to  come. 


V 

THE    GEEEK    PEOFESSOR   LAUGHS 

To  Mrs.  Philip  Harris,  in  the  big 
house  looking  out  across  the  lake,  the 
passing  days  brought  grateful  reassur 
ance.  .  .  .  Betty  was  safe — Miss  Stone 
was  well  again — and  the  man  had  not 
come.  .  .  .  She  breathed  more  freely  as 
she  thought  of  it.  The  child  had  told 
her  that  she  had  asked  him.  But  she 
had  forgotten  to  give  him  her  address; 
and  it  would  not  do  to  be  mixed  up  with 
a  person  like  that — free  to  come  and  go 
as  he  liked.  He  was  no  doubt  a  worthy 
man.  But  Betty  was  only  a  child,  and 
too  easily  enamoured  of  people  she 
liked.  It  was  strange  how  deep  an  im 
pression  the  man's  words  had  made  on 
her.  Athens  and  Greece  filled  her  wak 
ing  moments.  Statues  and  temples- 
photographs  and  books  of  travel  loaded 
the  school-room  shelves.  The  house 

39 


40  MR.  ACHILLES 

reeked  with  Greek  learning.  Poor  Miss 
Stone  found  herself  drifting  into  archae 
ology;  and  an  exhaustive  study  of 
Greek  literature,  Greek  life,  Greek  art 
filled  her  days.  The  theory  of  Betty 
Harris's  education  had  been  elaborately 
worked  out  by  specialists  from  earliest 
babyhood.  Certain  studies,  rigidly  pre 
scribed,  were  to  be  followed  whether 
she  liked  them  or  not — but  outside  these 
lines,  subjects  were  to  be  taken  up  when 
she  showed  an  interest  in  them.  There 
could  be  no  question  that  the  time  for  the 
study  of  Greek  history  and  Greek  civi 
lisation  had  come.  Miss  Stone  laboured 
early  and  late.  Instruction  from  the 
university  down  the  lake  was  pressed 
into  service.  .  .  .  But  out  of  it  all  the 
child  seemed,  by  some  kind  of  precious 
alchemy,  to  extract  only  the  best,  the 
vital  heart  of  it. 

The  instructor  in  Greek  marvelled  a 
little.  "She  is  only  a  child,"  he  re 
ported  to  the  head  of  the  department, 
"and  the  family  are  American  of  the 
newest  type — you  know,  the  Philip  Har 
rises?" 


THE  GREEK  PROFESSOR  LAUGHS    41 

The  professor  nodded.  "I  know — 
hide  and  hoof  a  generation  back." 

The  instructor  assented.  "But  the 
child  is  uncanny.  She  knows  more 
about  Greek  than— 

"Than  /  do,  I  suppose."  The 
professor  smiled  indulgently.  "She 
wouldn't  have  to  know  much  for  that." 

"It  isn't  so  much  what  she  knows. 
She  has  a  kind  of  feeling  for  things.  I 
took  up  a  lot  of  those  photographs  to 
day — some  of  the  later  period  mixed 
in — and  she  picked  them  out  as  if  she 
had  been  brought  up  in  Athens." 

The  professor  looked  interested. 
"Modern  educational  methods?" 

"As  much  as  you  like,"  said  the  in 
structor.  "But  it  is  something  more. 
When  I  am  with  the  child  I  am  in  Ath 
ens  itself.  Chicago  makes  me  blink 
when  I  come  out." 

The  professor  laughed.  The  next  day 
he  made  an  appointment  to  go  himself 
to  see  the  child.  He  was  a  famous 
epigraphist  and  an  authority  in  his  sub 
ject.  He  had  spent  years  in  Greece — 
with  his  nose,  for  the  most  part,  held 


42  MR.  ACHILLES 

close   to  bits  of  parchment  and  stone. 

When  he  came  away,  he  was  laughing 
softly.  "I  am  going  over  for  a  year," 
he  said,  when  he  met  the  instructor  that 
afternoon  in  the  corridor. 

"Did  you  see  the  little  Harris  girl?" 
asked  the  instructor. 

The  professor  paused.  "Yes,  I  saw 
her." 

"How  did  she  strike  you?" 

"She  struck  me  dumb,"  said  the  pro 
fessor.  "I  listened  for  the  best  part 
of  an  hour  while  she  expounded  things 
to  me — asked  me  questions  I  couldn't 
answer,  mostly."  He  chuckled  a  little. 
"I  felt  like  a  fool,"  he  added,  frankly, 
"and  it  felt  good." 

The  instructor  smiled.  "I  go 
through  it  twice  a  week.  The  trouble 
seems  to  be  that  she's  alive,  and  that 
she  thinks  everything  Greek  is  alive, 
too." 

The  professor  nodded.  "It's  never 
occurred  to  her  it's  dead  and  done  with 
these  thousand  years  and  more."  He 
gave  a  little  sigh.  "Sometimes  I've 


THE  GREEK  PROFESSOR  LAUGHS     43 

wondered  myself  whether  it  is — quite 
as  dead  as  it  looks  to  you  and  me,"  he 
added.  "You  know  that  grain — wheat 
or  something — that  Blackman  took  from 
the  Egyptian  mummy  he  brought  over 
last  spring — " 

"Yes,  he  planted  it— 

"Exactly.  And  all  summer  he  was 
tending  a  little  patch  of  something  green 
up  there  in  his  back  yard — as  fresh  as 
the  eyes  of  Pharaoh's  daughter  ever 
looked  on — " 

The  instructor  opened  his  eyes  a  lit 
tle.  This  was  a  wild  flight  for  the  head 
epigraphist. 

"That's  the  way  she  made  me  feel — 
that  little  Harris  girl,"  explained  the 
professor — "as  if  my  mummy  might 
spring  up  and  blossom  any  day  if  I 
didn't  look  out." 

The  instructor  laughed  out.  "So 
you're  going  over  with  it?" 

"A  year — two  years,  maybe,"  said 
the  professor.  "I  want  to  watch  it 
sprout. ' ' 


VI 

ACHIL.LES    CALLS    ON    BETTY   HARRIS 

IN  another  week  Achilles  Alexan- 
drakis  had  made  ready  to  call  on 
Betty  Harris.  There  had  been  many 
details  to  attend  to — a  careful  sponging 
and  pressing  of  his  best  suit,  the  pur 
chase  of  a  new  hat,  and  cuffs  and  col 
lars  of  the  finest  linen — nothing  was  too 
good  for  the  little  lady  who  had  flitted 
into  the  dusky  shop  and  out,  leaving  be 
hind  her  the  little  line  of  light. 

Achilles  brushed  the  new  hat  softly, 
turning  it  on  his  supple  wrist  with  gen 
tle  pride.  He  took  out  the  music-roll 
from  the  drawer  and  unrolled  it,  hold 
ing  it  in  light  fingers.  He  would  carry 
it  back  to  Betty  Harris,  and  he  would 
stay  for  a  while  and  talk  with  her  of  his 
beloved  Athens.  Outside  the  sun 
gleamed.  The  breeze  came  fresh  from 
the  lake.  As  he  made  his  way  up  the 

44 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     45 

long  drive  of  the  Lake  Shore,  the  water 
dimpled  in  the  June  sun,  and  little 
waves  lapped  the  great  stones,  touch 
ing  the  ear  with  quiet  sound.  It  was 
a  clear,  fresh  day,  with  the  hint  of  com 
ing  summer  in  the  air.  To  the  left, 
stone  castles  lifted  themselves  sombrely 
in  the  soft  day.  Grim  or  flaunting, 
they  faced  the  lake — castles  from  Ger 
many,  castles  from  France  and  castles 
from  Spain.  Achilles  eyed  them  with 
a  little  smile  as  his  swift,  thin  feet  trav 
ersed  the  long  stones.  There  were 
turrets  and  towers  and  battlements 
frowning  upon  the  peaceful,  workaday 
lake.  Minarets  and  flowers  in  stone, 
and  heavy  marble  blocks  that  gripped 
the  earth.  Suddenly  Achilles 's  foot 
slackened  its  swift  pace.  His  eye 
dropped  to  the  silver  tag  on  the  music- 
roll  in  his  hand,  and  lifted  itself  again 
to  a  gleaming  red-brown  house  at  the 
left.  It  rose  with  a  kind  of  lightness 
from  the  earth,  standing  poised  upon 
the  shore  of  the  lake,  like  some  alert, 
swift  creature  caught  in  flight,  brought 


46  MR.  ACHILLES 

to  bay  by  the  rush  of  waters.  Achilles 
looked  at  it  with  gentle  eyes,  a  swift 
pleasure  lighting  his  glance.  It  was  a 
beautiful  structure.  Its  red-brown 
front  and  pointed,  lifting  roof  had 
hardly  a  Greek  line  or  hint;  but  the 
spirit  that  built  the  Parthenon  was  in 
it — facing  the  rippling  lake.  He 
moved  softly  across  the  smooth  road 
way  and  leaned  against  the  parapet  of 
stone  that  guarded  the  water,  studying 
the  line  and  colour  of  the  house  that 
faced  him. 

The  man  who  planned  it  had  loved  it, 
and  as  it  rose  there  in  the  light  it  was 
perfect  in  every  detail  as  it  had  been 
conceived — with  one  little  exception. 
On  either  side  the  doorway  crouched 
massive  grey-pink  lions  wrought  in 
stone,  the  heavy  outspread  paws  and 
firm-set  haunches  resting  at  royal  ease. 
In  the  original  plan  these  lions  had  not 
appeared.  But  in  their  place  had  been 
two  steers — wide-flanked  and  short- 
horned,  with  lifted  heads  and  nostrils 
snuffing  free — something  crude,  brusque, 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     47 

perhaps,  but  full  of  power  and  quick 
onslaught.  The  house  that  rose  behind 
them  had  been  born  of  the  same  thought. 
Its  pointed  gable  and  its  facades,  its 
lifted  front,  had  the  same  look  of  chal 
lenge;  the  light,  firm-planted  hoofs,  the 
springing  head,  were  all  there — in  the 
soft,  red  stone  running  to  brown  in  the 
flanks. 

The  stock-yard  owner  and  his  wife  had 
liked  the  design — with  no  suspicion  of 
the  symbol  undergirding  it.  The  man 
had  liked  it  all — steers  and  red-brown 
stone  and  all — but  the  wife  had  objected. 
She  had  travelled  far,  and  she  had  seen, 
on  a  certain  building  in  Rome,  two  lions 
guarding  a  ducal  entrance.  .  .  . 

Now  that  the  house  was  finished,  the 
architect  seldom  passed  that  way.  But 
when  he  did  he  swore  at  the  lions, 
softly,  as  he  whirred  by.  He  had  done 
a  mighty  thing — conceived  in  steel  and 
stone  a  house  that  fitted  the  swift  life 
out  of  which  it  came,  the  wind-swept 
place  in  which  it  stood,  and  all  the  stir- 
ding,  troublous  times  about  it.  There  it 


48  MR.  ACHILLES 

rose  in  its  spirit  of  lightness,  head  up 
lifted  and  nostrils  sniffing  the  breeze — 
and  in  front  of  it  squatted  two  stone 
lions  from  the  palmy  days  of  Eome. 
He  gritted  his  teeth,  and  drove  his  ma 
chine  hard  when  he  passed  that  way. 

But  to  Achilles,  standing  with  bared 
head,  the  breeze  from  the  lake  touching 
his  forehead,  the  lions  were  of  no  ac 
count.  He  let  them  go.  The  spirit  of 
the  whole  possessed  him.  It  was  as  if 
a  hand  had  touched  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  in  a  crowd,  staying  him.  A 
quick  breath  escaped  his  lips  as  he  re 
placed  his  hat  and  crossed  to  the  red- 
brown  steps.  He  mounted  them  without 
a  glance  at  the  pink  monsters  on  either 
hand.  A  light  had  come  into  his  face. 
The  child  filled  it. 

The  stiff  butler  eyed  him  severely,  and 
the  great  door  seemed  ready  to  close  of 
itself.  Only  something  in  the  poise  of 
Achilles 's  head,  a  look  in  his  eyes,  held 
the  hinge  waiting  a  grudging  minute 
while  he  spoke. 

He  lifted  his  head  a  little ;  the  look  in 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     49 

his  eyes  deepened.  "I  am  called — 
Miss  Elizabeth  Harris — and  her  mother 
— to  see,"  he  said,  simply. 

The  door  paused  a  little  and  swung 
back  an  inch.  He  might  be  a  great 
savant  .  .  .  some  scholar  of  parts — an 
artist.  They  came  for  the  child — to  ex 
amine  her — to  play  for  her — to  talk  with 
her.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  the  music- 
roll.  ...  It  took  the  blundering  gram 
mar  and  the  music-roll  to  keep  the  door 
open — and  then  it  opened  wide  and 
Achilles  entered,  following  the  butler's 
stateliness  up  the  high,  dark  hall.  Rich 
hangings  were  about  them,  and  massive 
pictures,  bronzes  and  statues,  and  cu 
rious  carvings.  Inside  the  house  the 
taste  of  the  mistress  had  prevailed. 

At  the  door  of  a  great,  high-ceiled 
room  the  butler  paused,  holding  back 
the  soft  drapery  with  austere  hand. 
"What  name — for  madame?"  he  said. 

The  clear  eyes  of  Achilles  met  his. 
"My  name  is  Achilles  Alexandrakis," 
he  said,  quietly. 

The  eyes  of  the  butler  fell.    He  was 


50  MR.  ACHILLES 

struggling  with  this  unexpected  morsel 
in  the  recesses  of  his  being.  Plain  Mr. 
Alexander  would  have  had  small  effect 
upon  him ;  but  Achilles  Alexandrakis — ! 
He  mounted  the  long  staircase,  holding 
the  syllables  in  his  set  teeth. 

"Alexandrakis?"  His  mistress  turned 
a  little  puzzled  frown  upon  him. 
"What  is  he  like,  Conner?" 

The  man  considered  a  safe  moment. 
"He's  a  furriner,"  he  said,  addressing 
the  wall  before  him  with  impassive  jaw. 

A  little  light  crossed  her  face — not  a 
look  of  pleasure.  "Ask  Miss  Stone  to 
come  to  me — at  once,"  she  said. 

The  man  bowed  himself  out  and  de 
parted  on  silken  foot. 

Miss  Stone,  gentle  and  fluttering  and 
fine-grained,  appeared  a  moment  later 
in  the  doorway. 

"He  has  come,"  said  the  woman, 
without  looking  up. 

"He— f"  Miss  Stone's  lifted  eye 
brows  sought  to  place  him— 

"The  Greek— I  told  you—" 

"Oh—    The  Greek— !"    It  was  slow 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     51 

and  hesitant.  It  spoke  volumes  for 
Miss  Stone's  state  of  mind.  Hours  of 
Greek  history  were  in  it,  and  long  rows 
of  tombs  and  temples — the  Parthenon  of 
gods  and  goddesses,  with  a  few  outlying 
scores  of  heroes  and  understudies. 
"The — Greek,"  she  repeated,  softly. 

"The  Greek,"  said  the  woman,  with 
decision.  "He  has  asked  for  Betty  and 
for  me.  I  cannot  see  him,  of  course." 

"You  have  the  club,"  said  Miss  Stone, 
in  soft  assent. 

"I  have  the  club — in  ten  minutes." 
Her  brow  wrinkled.  "You  will  kindly 
see  him — 

"And  Betty—?"  said  Miss  Stone, 
waiting. 

"The  child  must  see  him.  Yes,  of 
course.  She  would  be  heart-broken — • 
You  drive  at  three,"  she  added,  without 
emphasis. 

"We  drive  at  three,"  repeated  Miss 
Stone. 

She  moved  quietly  away,  her  grey 
gown  a  bit  of  shimmering  in  the  gor 
geous  rooms.  She  had  been  chosen  for 


52  MR.  ACHILLES 

the  very  qualities  that  made  her  seem 
so  curiously  out  of  place — for  her  gen 
tleness  and  unassuming  dignity,  and  a 
few  ancestors.  The  country  had  been 
searched  for  a  lady — so  much  the  lady 
that  she  had  never  given  the  matter  a 
thought.  Miss  Stone  was  the  result. 
If  Betty  had  charm  and  simplicity  and 
instinctive  courtesy  toward  those  whom 
she  met,  it  was  only  what  she  saw  every 
day  in  the  little  grey  woman  who  di 
rected  her  studies,  her  play,  her  whole 
life. 

The  two  were  inseparable,  light  and 
shadow,  morning  and  night.  Betty's 
mother  in  the  house  was  the  grand 
lady — beautiful  to  look  upon — the  piece 
of  bronze,  or  picture,  that  went  with  the 
house;  but  Miss  Stone  was  Betty's 
own — the  little  grey  voice,  a  bit  of  heart- 
love,  and  something  common  and  pre 
cious. 

They  came  down  the  long  rooms  to 
gether,  the  child's  hand  resting  lightly 
in  hers,  and  her  steps  dancing  a  little 
in  happy  play.  She  had  not  heard  the 


They  ;ire  two  children  together  " 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     53 

man's  name.  He  was  only  a  wise  man 
whom  she  was  to  meet  for  a  few  min 
utes,  before  she  and  Miss  Stone  went  for 
their  drive.  The  day  was  full  of  light 
outside — even  in  the  heavily  draped 
rooms  you  could  feel  its  presence.  She 
was  eager  to  be  off,  out  in  the  sun  and 
air  of  the  great  sea  of  freshness,  and 
the  light,  soft  wind  on  her  face. 

Then  she  saw  the  slim,  dark  man  who 
had  risen  to  meet  her,  and  a  swift  light 
crossed  her  face.  .  .  .  She  was  coming 
down  the  room  now,  both  hands  out 
stretched,  fluttering  a  little  in  the  quick 
surprise  and  joy.  Then  the  hands 
stayed  themselves,  and  she  advanced 
demurely  to  meet  him ;  but  the  hand  that 
lifted  itself  to  his  seemed  to  sing  like 
a  child's  hand — in  spite  of  the  princess. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said. 
"This  is  Miss  Stone."  She  seated  her 
self  beside  him,  her  eyes  on  his  face, 
her  little  feet  crossed  at  the  ankle. 
"Have  you  any  new  fruit  to-day?"  she 
asked,  politely. 

He  smiled  a  little,  and  drew  a  soft, 


54  MR.  ACHILLES 

flat,  white  bit  of  tissue  from  his  pocket, 
undoing  it  fold  on  fold — till  in  the  cen 
tre  lay  a  grey-green  leaf. 

The  child  bent  above  it  with  pleased 
glance.    Her  eyes  travelled  to  his  face. 

He  nodded  quietly.  "I  thought  of 
you.  It  is  the  Eastern  citron.  See- 
He!  lifted  the  leaf  and  held  it  suspended. 
"It  hangs  like  this — and  the  fruit  is 
blue — grey-blue  like —  His  eye  trav 
elled  about  the  elaborate  room.  He 
shook  his  head  slowly.  Then  his  glance 
fell  on  the  grey  gown  of  Miss  Stone  as 
it  fell  along  the  rug  at  her  feet,  and  he 
bowed  with  gracious  appeal  for  permis 
sion.  "Like  the  dress  of  madame,"  he 
said — "but  warmer,  like  the  sun — and 
blue." 

A  low  colour  crept  up  into  the  soft 
line  of  Miss  Stone's  cheek  and  rested 
there.  She  sat  watching  the  two  with 
slightly  puzzled  eyes.  She  was  a  lady 
—kindly  and  gracious  to  the  world — 
but  she  could  not  have  thought  of  any 
thing  to  say  to  this  fruit-peddler  who 
had  seemed,  for  days  and  weeks,  to  be 


ACHILLES  CALLS  ON  BETTY  HARRIS     55 

tumbling  all  Greek  civilisation  about  her 
head.  .  .  .  The  child  was  chatting  with 
him  as  if  she  had  known  him  al 
ways.  .  .  .  They  had  turned  to  each 
other  again,  and  were  absorbed  in  the 
silken  leaf — the  man  talking  in  soft, 
broken  words,  the  child  piecing  out  the 
half-finished  phrase  with  quick  nod  and 
gesture,  her  little  voice  running  in  and 
out  along  the  words  like  ripples  of  light 
on  some  dark  surface. 

The  face  of  Achilles  had  grown 
strangely  radiant.  Miss  Stone,  as  she 
looked  at  it  again,  was  almost  startled 
at  the  change.  The  sombre  look  had 
vanished.  Quick  lights  ran  in  it,  and 
little  thoughts  that  met  the  child's  and 
laughed.  "They  are  two  children  to 
gether,"  thought  Miss  Stone,  as  she 
watched  them.  "I  have  never  seen  the 
child  so  happy.  She  must  see  him 
again."  .  .  .  She  sat  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  grey  lap,  a  little  apart, 
watching  the  pretty  scene  and  happy  in 
it,  but  outside  it  all,  untouched  and 
grey  and  still. 


VII 

TO    MEET   THE    " HALCYON    CLUB" 

OUTSIDE  the  door  the  horses  pranced, 
champing  a  little  at  the  bit,  and  turning 
their  shining,  arching  necks  in  the  sun. 
Other  carriages  drove  up  and  drove 
away.  Rich  toilets  alighted  and 
mounted  the  red-brown  steps — hats  that 
rose,  tier  on  tier,  riotous  parterres  of 
flowers  and  feathers  and  fruit,  close  lit 
tle  bonnets  that  proclaimed  their  ele 
gance  by  velvet  knot  or  subtle  curve  of 
brim  and  crown.  Colours  flashed,  rib 
bon-ends  fluttered,  delicately  shod  feet 
scorned  the  pavement.  It  was  the  Hal 
cyon  Club  of  the  North  Side,  assembling 
to  listen  to  Professor  Addison  Trent,  the 
great  epigraphist,  who  was  to  discourse 
to  them  on  the  inscriptions  of  Cnossus, 
the  buried  town  of  Crete.  The  feathers 
and  flowers  and  boas  were  only  surface 
deep.  Beneath  them  beat  an  intense  de- 

56 


sire  to  know  about  epigraphy — all  about 
it.  The  laughing  faces  and  daintily 
shod  feet  were  set  firmly  in  the  way  of 
culture.  They  swept  through  the  wide 
doors,  up  the  long  carved  staircase— 
from  the  Caracci  Palace  in  Florence — 
into  the  wide  library,  with  its  arched 
ceiling  and  high-shelved  books  and 
glimpses  of  busts  and  pedestals.  They 
fluttered  in  soft  gloom,  and  sank  into 
rows  of  adjustable  chairs  and  faced 
sternly  a  little  platform  at  the  end  of 
the  room.  The  air  of  culture  descended 
gratefully  about  them ;  they  buzzed  a  lit 
tle  in  its  dim  warmth  and  settled  back 
to  await  the  arrival  of  the  great 
epigraphist. 

The  great  epigraphist  was,  at  this  mo 
ment,  three  hundred  and  sixty-three 
and  one-half  miles — to  be  precise — out 
from  New  York.  He  was  sitting  in  a 
steamer-chair,  his  feet  stretched  com 
fortably  before  him,  a  steamer-rug 
wrapped  about  his  ample  form,  a  grey 
cap  pulled  over  his  eyes— dozing  in  the 
sun.  Suddenly  he  sat  erect.  The  rug 


58  MR.  ACHILLES 

fell  from  his  person,  the  visor  shot  up 
from  his  eyes.  He  turned  them  blankly 
toward  the  shoreless  West.  This  was 
the  moment  at  which  he  had  instructed 
his  subconscious  self  to  remind  him  of 
an  engagement  to  lecture  on  Cretan  in 
scriptions  at  the  home  of  Mrs.  Philip 
Harris  on  the  Lake  Shore  Drive,  Chi 
cago,  Illinois.  He  looked  again  at  the 
shoreless  West  and  tried  to  grasp  it. 
It  may  have  been  his  subconscious  self 
that  reminded  him — it  may  have  been 
the  telepathic  waves  that  travelled  to 
ward  him  out  of  the  half -gloom  of  the 
library.  They  were  fifty  strong,  and 
they  travelled  with  great  intensity — 
"Had  any  one  seen  him — ?"  "Where 
was  he?"  "What  was  wrong?" 
"Late!"  "Very  late!"  "Such  a 
punctual  man!"  The  waves  fluttered 
and  spread  and  grew.  The  president  of 
the  club  looked  at  the  hostess.  The 
hostess  looked  at  the  president.  They 
consulted  and  drew  apart.  The  presi 
dent  rose  to  speak,  clearing  her  throat 
for  a  pained  look.  Then  she  waited.  .  .  . 


To  MEET  THE  "HALCYON  CLUB"    59 

The  hostess  was  approaching  again,  a 
fine  resolution  in  her  face.  They  con 
ferred,  looking  doubtfully  at  the  door. 
The  president  nodded  courageously  and 
seated  herself  again  on  the  platform, 
while  Mrs.  Philip  Harris  passed  slowly 
from  the  room,  the  eyes  of  the  assem 
bled  company  following  her  with  a  lit 
tle  look  of  curiosity  and  dawning  hope. 


VIII 

AND   GIVE   A  SIMPLE   LECTURE 

IN  the  doorway  below  she  paused  a 
moment,  a  little  startled  at  the  scene. 
The  bowed  heads,  the  bit  of  folded  tis 
sue,  the  laughing,  eager  tones,  the  look 
in  Miss  Stone's  face  held  her.  .  .  .  She 
swept  aside  the  drapery  and  entered — 
the  stately  lady  of  the  house. 

The  bowed  heads  were  lifted.  The 
child  sprang  to  her  feet.  * '  Mother-dear ! 
It  is  my  friend!  He  has  come!"  The 
words  sang. 

Mrs.  Philip  Harris  held  out  a  gra 
cious  hand.  She  had  not  intended  to 
offer  her  hand.  She  had  intended  to  be 
distant  and  kind.  But  when  the  man 
looked  up  she  somehow  forgot.  She 
held  out  the  hand  with  a  quick  smile. 

The  Greek  was  on  his  feet,  bending 
above  it.  "It  is  an  honour,  madame — 
that  you  come." 

60 


AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE     61 

"I  have  come  to  ask  a  favour,"  she 
replied,  slowly,  her  eyes  travelling  over 
the  well-brushed  clothes,  the  clean  linen, 
the  slender  feet  of  the  man.  .  .  .  Favour 
was  not  what  she  had  meant  to  say — 
privilege  was  nearer  it.  ...  But  there 
was  something  about  him.  .  .  .  Her 
voice  grew  suave  to  match  the  words. 

"My  daughter  has  told  me  of  you — " 
Her  hand  rested  lightly  on  the  child's 
curls — a  safe,  unrumpled  touch.  "Her 
visit  to  you  has  enchanted  her.  She 
speaks  of  it  every  day,  of  the  Parthenon 
and  what  you  told  her." 

The  eyes  of  the  man  and  the  child  met 
gravely. 

"I  wondered  whether  you  would  be 
willing  to  tell  some  friends  of  mine — 
here — now— 

He  had  turned  to  her — a  swift  look. 

She  replied  with  a  smile.  "Nothing 
formal — just  simple  things,  such  as  you 
told  the  child.  We  should  be  very  grate 
ful  to  you,"  she  added,  as  if  she  were 
a  little  surprised  at  herself. 

He  looked  at  her  with  clear  eyes.     "I 


62  MR.  ACHILLES 

speak — yes — I  like  always — to  speak  of 
my  country.  I  thank  you. ' ' 

The  child,  standing  by  with  eager 
feet,  moved  lightly.  Her  hands  danced 
in  softest  pats.  "You  will  tell  them 
about  it — just  as  you  told  me — and  they 
will  love  it!" 

"I  tell  them— yes" 

< '  Come,  Miss  Stone. ' '  The  child  held 
out  her  hand  with  a  little  gesture  of 
pride  and  loving.  "We  must  go  now. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Achilles.  You  will  come 
again,  please." 

"I  come,"  said  Achilles,  simply.  He 
watched  the  quaint  figure  pass  down  the 
long  rooms  beside  the  shimmering  grey 
dress,  through  an  arched  doorway  at  the 
end,  and  out  of  sight.  Then  he  turned 
to  his  hostess  with  the  quick  smile  of 
his  race.  "She  is  beautiful,  madame," 
he  said,  slowly.  "She  is  a  child!" 

The  mother  assented,  absently.  She 
was  not  thinking  of  the  child,  but  of  the 
fifty  members  of  the  Halcyon  Club  in 
the  library.  "Will  you  come?"  she 
said.  "My  friends  are  waiting." 


AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE     63 

He  spread  his  hands  in  quick  assent. 
"I  come — as  you  like.  I  give  pleasure 
— to  come." 

She  smiled  a  little.  ''Yes,  you  give 
pleasure."  She  was  somehow  at  ease 
about  the  man.  He  was  poor — illiter 
ate,  perhaps,  but  not  uncouth.  She 
glanced  at  him  with  a  little  look  of  ap 
proval  as  they  went  up  the  staircase. 
It  came  to  her  suddenly  that  he  har 
monised  with  it,  and  with  all  the  beau 
tiful  things  about  them.  The  figure  of 
Professor  Trent  flashed  upon  her — • 
short  and  fat  and  puffing,  and  yearning 
toward  the  top  of  the  stair.  But  this 
man.  There  was  the  grand  air  about 
him — and  yet  so  simple.  .  .  . 

It  was  almost  with  a  sense  of  eclat 
that  she  ushered  him  into  the  library. 
The  air  stirred  subtly,  with  a  little  hush. 
The  president  was  on  her  feet,  intro 
ducing  Mr.  Achilles  Alexandrakis,  who, 
in  the  unavoidable  absence  of  Professor 
Trent,  had  kindly  consented  to  speak  to 
them  on  the  traditions  and  customs  of 
modern  Greek  life. 


64  MR.  ACHILLES 

Achilles 's  eyes  fell  gently  on  the 
lifted  faces.  "I  like  to  tell  you  about 
my  home,"  he  said,  simply.  "I  tell  you 
all  I  can." 

The  look  of  strain  in  the  faces  re 
laxed.  It  was  going  to  be  an  easy  lec 
ture — one  that  you  could  know  some 
thing  about.  They  settled  to  soft  at 
tention  and  approval. 

Achilles  waited  a  minute — looking  at 
them  with  deep  eyes.  And  suddenly 
they  saw  that  the  eyes  were  not  looking 
at  them,  but  at  something  far  away — 
something  beautiful  and  loved. 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  members  of 
the  Halcyon  Club  had  never  listened  to 
anything  quite  like  the  account  that 
Achilles  Alexandrakis  gave  them  that 
day,  in  the  gloomy  room  of  the  red- 
fronted  house  overlooking  the  lake,  of 
the  land  of  his  birth.  They  scarcely 
listened  to  the  actual  words  at  first,  but 
they  listened  to  him  all  lighted  up  from 
far  away.  There  was  something  about 
him  as  he  spoke — a  sweeping  rhythm 
that  flew  as  a  bird,  reaching  over  great 


AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE     65 

spaces,  and  a  simple  joy  that  lilted  a 
little  and  sang. 

He  drew  for  them  the  Parthenon — 
the  glory  of  Athens — in  column  and 
statue  and  mighty  temple  and  crumbling 
tomb.  ...  A  sense  of  beauty  and  won 
der  and  still,  clear  light  passed  before 
them. 

Then  he  paused  .  .  .  his  voice  laughed 
a  little,  and  he  spoke  of  his  people.  .  .  . 
Nobody  could  have  quite  told  what  he 
said  to  them  about  his  people.  But 
flutes  sang.  .  .  .  The  sound  of  feet  was 
on  the  grass — touching  it  in  tune — swift- 
flitting  feet  that  paused  and  held  a 
rhythmic  measure  while  it  swung. 
Quick-beating  feet  across  the  green. 
Shadowy  forms.  The  sway  of  gowns, 
light-falling,  and  the  call  of  voices  low 
and  sweet.  .  .  .  Greek  youth  and  maid 
in  swiftest  play.  They  flung  the 
branches  wide  and  trembled  in  the  voice 
less  light  that  played  upon  the  grass. 
The  foot  of  Achilles  half-beat  the 
time.  .  .  .  The  tones  filled  themselves  and 
lifted,  slowly,  surely.  The  voice  quick- 


66  ME.  ACHILLES 

ened — it  ran  with  faster  notes,  as  one 
who  tells  some  eager  tale.  .  .  .  Then  it 
swung  in  cradling-song  the  twilight  of 
Athens — and  the  little  birds  sang  low, 
twittering  underneath  the  leaves — in 
softest  garb — at  last — rose  leaves  fall 
ing — the  dusky  bats  around  her  roof 
tops,  and  the  high-soaring  sky  that 
arches  all — mysterious  and  deep.  .  .  . 
Then  the  voice  sank  low,  and  rang  and 
held  the  note — stern,  splendid — Athens 
of  might.  .  .  .  City  of  power !  Glory,  in 
clanging  word,  and  in  the  lift  of  eye.  .  .  . 
Athens  on  her  hills,  like  great  Jove  en 
throned — the  shout,  the  triumph,  the 
clash  of  steel,  and  the  feet  of  Alaric  in 
the  streets.  .  .  .  The  voice  of  the  Greek 
grew  hoarse  now,  tiny  cords  swelled  on 
his  forehead.  . . .  Athens,  city  of  war.  .  .  . 
Desolation,  fire,  and  trampling — !  His 
eye  was  drawn  in  light.  .  .  .  Vandal 
hand  and  iron  foot!  .  .  . 

Who  shall  say  how  much  of  it  he 
told — how  much  of  it  he  spoke,  and  how 
much  was  only  hinted  or  called  up — in 
his  voice  and  his  gesture  and  his  eye. .  .  . 


AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE     67 

They  had  not  known  that  Athens  was 
like  this !  They  spoke  in  lowered  voices, 
moving  apart  a  little,  and  making 
place  for  the  silver  trays  that  began  to 
pass  among  them.  They  glanced  now 
and  then  at  the  dark  man  nibbling  his 
biscuit  absently  and  looking  with  un 
fathomable  eyes  into  a  teacup. 

A  large  woman  approached  him,  her 
ample  bust  covered  with  little  beads 
that  rose  and  fell  and  twinkled  as  she 
talked.  "I  liked  your  talk,  Mr.  Alexis, 
and  I  am  going  over  just  as  soon  as  my 
husband  can  get  away  from  his  busi 
ness."  She  looked  at  him  with  ap 
proval,  waiting  for  his. 

He  bowed  with  deep,  grave  gesture. 
"My  country  is  honoured,  madame." 

Other  listeners  were  crowding  upon 
them  now,  commending  the  fire-tipped 
words,  felicitating  the  man  with  pretty 
gesture  and  soft  speech,  patronising  him 
for  the  Parthenon  and  his  country  and 
her  art.  .  .  .  The  mistress  of  the  house, 
moving  in  and  out  among  them, 
watched  the  play  with  a  little  look  of 


68  MB,  ACHILLES 

annoyance.  .  .  .  He  would  be  spoiled — 
a  man  of  that  class.  .  k  .  She  glanced 
down  at  the  slip  of  paper  in  her 
hand.  ...  It  bore  the  name,  "  Achilles 
Alexandrakis, "  and  below  it  a  generous 
sum  to  his  order.  She  made  her  way 
toward  him,  and  waited  while  he  disen 
gaged  himself  from  the  little  throng 
about  him  and  came  to  her,  a  look  of 
pleasure  and  service  in  his  face. 

''You  speak  to  me,  madame?" 

"I  wanted  to  give  you  this."  She 
slipped  the  check  into  the  thin  fingers. 
"You  can  look  at  it  later — " 

But  already  the  fingers  had  raised  it 
with  a  little  look  of  pleased  surprise.  .  .  . 
Then  the  face  darkened,  and  he  laid 
the  paper  on  the  polished  table  be 
tween  them.  There  was  a  quick  move 
ment  of  the  slim  fingers  that  pushed  it 
toward  her. 

"I  cannot  take  it,  madam e — to  speak 
of  my  country.  ...  I  speak  for  the 
child — and  for  you."  He  bowed  low. 
"I  give  pleasure  to  do  it." 

The  next  moment  he  had  saluted  her 


AND  GIVE  A  SIMPLE  LECTURE     69 

with  gentle  grace  and  was  gone  from 
the  room — from  the  house — between  the 
stone  lions  and  down  the  Lake  Shore 
Drive,  his  free  legs  swinging  in  long 
strides,  his  head  held  high  to  the  wind 
on  the  opal  lake. 

A  carriage  passed  him,  and  he  looked 
up.  Two  figures,  erect  in  the  sun,  the 
breath  of  a  child's  smile,  a  bit  of  shim 
mer  and  grey,  the  flash  and  beat  of 
quick  hoofs — and  they  were  gone.  But 
the  heart  of  Achilles  sang  in  his  breast, 
and  the  day  about  him  was  full  of  light. 


IX 

BETTY  LEAVES   HEE  GODS 

LITTLE  Betty  Harris  sat  in  the  big  win 
dow,  bending  over  her  gods  and  god 
desses  and  temples  and  ruins.  It  was 
months  since,  under  the  inspiration  of 
the  mysterious,  fruit-dealing  Greek, 
she  had  begun  her  study  of  Greek 
art;  and  the  photographs  gathered 
from  every  source — were  piled  high 
in  the  window — prints  and  tiny  re 
plicas  and  casts,  and  pictures  of  every 
kind  and  size — they  overflowed  into 
the  great  room  beyond.  She  was  busy 
now,  pasting  the  photographs  into  a  big 
book.  To-morrow  the  family  started 
for  the  country,  and  only  as  many  gods 
could  go  as  could  be  pasted  in  the  book. 
Miss  Stone  had  decreed  it  and  what 
Miss  Stone  said  must  be  done.  .  .  . 
Betty  Harris  looked  anxiously  at  Posei 
don,  and  laid  him  down,  in  favour  of 

70 


BETTY  LEAVES  HEE  GODS       71 

Zeus.  She  took  him  up  in  her  fingers 
again,  with  a  little  flourish  of  the  paste- 
tube,  and  made  him  fast.  Poseidon 
must  go,  too.  The  paste-tube  wavered 
uncertainly  over  the  maze  of  gods  and 
found  another  and  stuck  it  in  place,  and 
lifted  itself  in  admiring  delight. 

There  was  a  little  rustle,  and  the  child 
looked  up.  Miss  Stone  stood  in  the 
doorway,  smiling  at  her. 

"I'm  making  my  book  for  the  gods," 
said  the  child,  her  flushed  face  lighting. 
"It's  a  kind  of  home  for  them."  She 
slipped  down  from  her  chair  and  came 
across,  holding  the'  book  outstretched  be 
fore  her.  .  .  .  "You  see  I've  put  Posei 
don  in He  never  had  a  home— 

except  just  the  sea,  of  course — a  kind  of 
wet  home."  She  gave  the  god  a  little 
pat,  regarding  him  fondly. 

Miss  Stone  bent  above  the  book,  with 
the  smile  of  understanding  that  al 
ways  lay  between  them.  .  .  .  When  Betty 
Harris  thought  about  God,  he  seemed 
always,  somehow,  like  Miss  Stone's 
smile — but  bigger — because  he  filled  the 


72  MR.  ACHILLES 

whole  earth.  .  .  .  She  lifted  her  hand 
and  stroked  the  cheek  bending  above  her 
book.  .  .  .  "I'm  making  a  place  for 
them  all,"  she  said.  "It's  a  kind  of 
story—  She  drew  a  sigh  of  quick  de 
light. 

Miss  Stone  closed  the  book  decisively, 
touching  the  flushed  face  with  her  fin 
gers.  "Put  it  away,  child — and  the  pic 
tures.  We're  going  to  drive." 

"Yes — Nono."  It  was  her  own  pet 
name  for  Miss  Stone,  and  she  gave  a 
little  quick  nod,  closing  the  book  with 
happy  eyes.  But  she  waited  a  moment, 
hugging  the  book  to  her  and  looking  at 
the  scattered  gods  in  the  great  window, 
before  she  walked  demurely  across  and 
began  gathering  them  up — a  little  puz 
zled  frown  between  her  eyes.  "I  sup 
pose  I  couldn't  leave  them  scattered 
around?"  she  suggested  politely. 

Miss  Stone  smiled  a  little  head-shake, 
and  the  child  bent  again  to  her  work. 
"I  don't  like  to  pick  up,"  she  said 
softly.  "It's  more  interesting  not  to 
pick  up — ever."  She  lifted  her  face 


BETTY  LEAVES  HER  GODS       73 

from  a  print  of  Apollo  and  looked  at 
Miss  Stone  intently.  .  .  .  "There  might 
be  gods  that  could  pick  up — pick  them 
selves  up,  perhaps — ?"  It  was  a  polite 
suggestion — but  there  was  a  look  in  the 
dark  face — the  look  of  the  meat-packer's 
daughter — something  that  darted  ahead 
and  compelled  gods  to  pick  themselves 

up She  bent  again,  the  little  sigh 

checking  itself  on  her  lip.  .  .  .  Miss 
Stone  did  not  like  to  have  little  girls 
object — and  it  was  not  polite,  and  be 
sides  you  had  to  take  care  of  things — 
your  own  things.  .  .  .  The  servants 
took  care  of  the  house  for  you,  and 
bought  you  things  to  eat,  and  made  beds 
for  you,  and  fed  the  horses  and  ironed 

clothes but  your  own  things — the 

gods  and  temples  and  scrapbooks  and 
paste  that  you  left  lying  about — you 
had  to  put  away  yourself !  .  .  .  Her  fin 
gers  found  the  paste-tube  and  screwed 
it  firmly  in  place — with  a  little  twist  of 
the  small  mouth — and  hovered  above  the 
prints  with  quick  touch.  .  .  .  The  serv 
ants  did  things — other  things.  Con- 


74  MR.  ACHILLES 

stance  mended  your  clothes  and  dressed 
you,  and  Marie  served  you  at  table,  and 
sometimes  she  brought  a  nice  little 
lunch  if  you  were  hungry — and  you  and 
Miss  Stone  had  it  together  on  the  school 
table — but  no  one  ever — ever — ever — 
picked  up  your  playthings  for  you.  She 
thrust  the  last  god  into  his  box  and 
closed  the  lid  firmly.  Then  she  looked 
up.  She  was  alone  in  the  big  room 
....  in  the  next  room  she  could  hear 
Miss  Stone  moving  softly,  getting  ready 
for  the  drive.  She  slipped  from  her 
seat  and  stood  in  the  window,  looking 
out — far  ahead  the  lake  stretched — 
dancing  with  green  waves  and  little 
white  edges — and  down  below,  the 
horses  curved  their  great  necks  that 
glistened  in  the  sun — and  the  harness 
caught  gleams  of  light.  The  child's 
eyes  dwelt  on  them  happily.  .  .  .  They 
were  her  very  own,  Pollux  and  Castor — 
and  she  was  going  driving — driving 
in  the  sun.  She  hummed  a  little  tune, 
standing  looking  down  at  them. 
Behind  her  stretched  the  great  room 


BETTY  LEAVES  HER  GODS       75 

—high-ceiled  and  wide,  and  furnished 
for  a  princess — a  child  princess.  Its 
canopied  bed  and  royal  draperies  had 
come  across  the  seas  from  a  royal 
house — the  children  of  kings  had  slept 
in  it  before  Betty  Harris.  The  high 
walls  were  covered  with  priceless 
decoration — yet  like  a  child  in  every 
line.  ...  It  was  Betty's  own  place  in 
the  great  house — and  the  little  room 
adjoining,  where  Miss  Stone  slept,  was 
a  part  of  it,  clear  and  fine  in  its  lines 
and  in  the  bare  quiet  of  the  walls.  .  .  . 
Betty  liked  to  slip  away  into  Miss 
Stone's  room — and  stand  very  still,  look 
ing  about  her,  hardly  breathing.  .  .  . 
It  was  like  a  church' — only  clearer 
and  sweeter  and  freer  .  .  .  perhaps  it 
was  the  woods  .  .  .  with  the  wind  whis 
pering  up  there.  .  .  .  She  always  held 
her  breath  to  listen  in  Miss  Stone's 
room;  and  when  she  came  back,  to  her 
own,  child's  room — with  its  canopied 
bed  and  royal  draperies  and  colour  and 
charm,  she  held  the  stillness  and  white 
ness  of  Miss  Stone's  room  in  her  heart — 


76  MR.  ACHILLES 

it  was  like  a  bird  nestling  there.  Betty 
had  never  held  a  bird,  but  she  often 
lifted  her  hands  to  them  as  they  flew— 
and  once,  in  a  dream,  one  had  fluttered 
into  the  lifted  hands  and  she  had  held  it 
close  and  felt  the  wind  blow  softly.  It 
was  like  Miss  Stone's  room.  .  .  .  But 
Miss  Stone  was  not  like  that.  You 
could  hug  Nono  and  tell  her  secrets  and 
what  you  wanted  for  luncheon — Some 
times  she  would  let  you  have  it — if  you 
were  good  --  very  good  —  and  Nono 
knew  everything.  She  knew  so  much 
that  Betty  Harris,  looking  from  her 
window,  sighed  softly.  No  one  could 
know  as  much  as  Nono  knew — not 
ever. 

"All  ready,  Betty."  It  was  Miss 
Stone  in  the  doorway  again.  And  with 
a  last  look  down  out  of  the  window  at 
the  horses  and  the  shimmering  lake, 
the  child  came  across  the  room,  skipping 
a  little.  .  .  .  "I  should  like  to  wear  my 
hat  with  the  cherries,  please,"  she  said. 
' '  I  like  to  feel  them  bob  in  the  sun  when 
it  shines — they  bob  so  nicely — "  She 


BETTY  LEAVES  HER  GODS       77 

paused  with  a  quick  look — "They  do 
bob,  don't  they,  Nono?" 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  noticed,"  said 
Miss  Stone.  She  was  still  smiling  as 
she  touched  the  tumbled  hair,  putting  it 
in  place. 

"But  they  must  bob,"  said  Betty. 
"I  think  I  should  have  noticed  your 
cherries  bobbing,  Miss  Stone."  She 
was  looking  intently  at  the  quiet  cheek 
close  beside  her  own,  with  its  little  flush 
of  pink,  and  the  greyness  of  the  hair 
that  lay  beside  it.  "I  notice  all  your 
things,  Nono,"  she  said  softly. 

Miss  Stone  smiled  again  and  drew  her 
to  her.  "I  will  look  to-day,  Betty, 
when  we  drive — " 

The  child  nodded — "Yes,  they  will 
bob  then.  I  can  see  them — even  with 
my  eyes  not  shut,  I  can  see  them  bob — 
Please,  Constance — "  She  turned  to 
the  stiff  maid  who  had  come  in— 
"I  want  my  grey  coat  and  red-cherry 
hat.  We're  going  to  drive — in  the 
sun." 

The  maid  brought  the  garments  and 


78  MR.  ACHILLES 

put  them  on  with  careful  touch,  tying 
the  strings  under  the  lifted  chin. 

The  child  nodded  to  her  gaily. 
"Good-bye,  Constance — we're  going  for 
a  drive — a  long  drive — we  shall  go  and 
go  and  go — Come,  Miss  Stone."  She 
took  the  quiet  hand,  and  danced  a  little, 
and  held  it  close  to  her — down  the  long 
staircase  and  through  the  wide  hall — 
and  out  to  the  sunshine  and  the  street. 

James,  from  his  box,  looked  up,  and 
the  reins  tightened  in  the  big  hands. 
The  horses  pranced  and  clicked  their 
hoofs  and  stood  still;  and  James,  lean 
ing  a  respectful  ear,  touched  his  hat- 
brim,  and  they  were  off,  the  harnesses 
glinting  and  the  little  red  cherries  bob 
bing  in  the  sun. 


X 

FOR  A  LONG   DRIVE 

BETTY  HARRIS  sat  very  still — her  hands 
in  her  lap,  her  face  lifted  to  the  breeze 
that  touched  it  swiftly  and  fingered  her 
hair  and  swept  past.  Presently  she 
looked  up  with  a  nod — as  if  the  breeze 
reminded  her.  "I  should  like  to  see 
Mr.  Achilles,"  she  said. 

"Not  to-day,"  answered  Miss  Stone, 
"we  must  do  the  errands  for  mother 
to-day,  you  know." 

The  child's  face  fell.  "I  wanted  to 
see  Mr.  Achilles,"  she  said  simply. 
She  sat  very  quiet,  her  eyes  on  the  lake. 
When  she  looked  up,  the  eyes  had 
brimmed  over — "Why,  Betty!" 

"I  didn't  mean  to,"  said  the  child. 
She  was  searching  for  her  handkerchief 
and  the  little  cherries  bobbed  forward 
....  "I  didn't  know  they  would 
spill!"  She  had  found  the  handker- 

79 


80  MR.  ACHILLES 

chief  now  and  was  wiping  them  away, 
and  she  smiled  at  Miss  Stone — a  brave 
smile — that  was  going  to  be  happy- 
Miss  Stone  smiled  back,  with  a  little 
head-shake.     ''Foolish  Betty!" 

''I  didn't  expect  them,"  said  the 
child,  "I  was  just  thinking  about  Mr. 
Achilles  and  they  came — just  came! — 
They  just  came!"  she  repeated  sternly. 
She  gave  a  final  dab  to  the  handker 
chief  and  stowed  it  away,  sitting  very 
erect  and  still. 

Miss  Stone's  eyes  studied  her  face. 
''We  cannot  go  to-day,"  she  said, 
" — and  to-morrow  we  start  for  the 
country.  Perhaps — "  she  paused, 
thinking  it  out. 

But  the  child's  eyes  took  it  up — and 
danced.  ' '  He  can  make  us  a  visit, ' '  she 
said,  nodding — ' '  a  visit  of  three  weeks ! ' ' 
She  smiled  happily. 

Miss  Stone  smiled  back,  shaking  her 
head.  "He  could  not  leave  the  fruit- 
shop — " 

But  the  child  ignored  it.  "He  will 
come,"  she  said  quickly,  "and  we  shall 


FOR  A  LONG  DRIVE  81 

talk — and  talk — about  the  gods,  you 
know—  She  lifted  her  eyes,  "and  we 
shall  go  in  the  fields — He  will  come!" 
She  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction 
and  lifted  her  head 

And  Miss  Stone,  watching  her,  had  a 
feeling  of  quick  relief.  She  had  known 
for  a  day  or  two  that  the  child  was  not 
well,  and  they  had  hurried  to  get  away 
to  the  fields.  This  was  their  last  drive. 
To-morrow  the  horses  would  be  sent  on ; 
and  the  next  day  they  would  all  go — in 
the  great  touring  car  that  would  eat  up 
the  miles,  and  pass  the  horses,  and 
reach  Idlewood  long  before  them. 

No  one  except  Betty  and  Miss  Stone 
used  the  horses  now.  They  would  have 
been  sold  long  ago  had  it  not  been  for 
the  child.  The  carriage  was  a  part  of 
her — and  the  clicking  hoofs  and  soft- 
shining  skins  and  arching  necks.  The 
sound  of  the  hoofs  on  the  pavement 
played  little  tunes  for  Betty.  Her 
mother  had  protested  against  expense, 
and  her  father  had  grumbled  a  little; 
but  if  the  child  wanted  the  carriage 


82  MR.  ACHILLES 

rather  than  the  great  car  that  could 
whir  her  away  in  a  breath,  it  must  be 
kept. 

It  made  a  pretty  picture  this  morn 
ing  as  it  turned  into  the  busier  street 
and  took  its  way  among  the  dark,  snout 
ing  cars  that  pushed  and  sped.  It  was 
like  a  delicate  dream  that  shimmered 
and  touched  the  pavement — or  like  a 

breath  of  the  past and  the  great 

cars  skimmed  around  it  and  pushed  on 
with  quick  honk  and  left  it  far  behind. 

But  the  carriage  kept  its  way  with  un 
hurried  rhythm — into  the  busy  street 
and  out  again  into  a  long  avenue  where 
great  houses  of  cement  and  grey  stone 
stood  guard. 

No  one  was  in  sight,  up  and  down  its 
clear  length — only  the  morning  sun 
shining  on  the  grey  stones  and  on  the 
pavement — and  the  little  jingling  in  the 
harness  and  the  joyous  child  and  the 
quiet  grey  woman  beside  her. 

' '  I  shall  not  be  gone  a  minute,  Betty, ' ' 
said  Miss  Stone.  The  carriage  had 
drawn  up  before  the  great  shadow  of  a 


FOR  A  LONG  DRIVE  83 

house.  She  gave  the  child's  hand  a  lit 
tle  pat  and  stepped  from  the  carriage. 

But  at  the  door  there  was  a  minute's 
question  and,  with  a  nod  to  Betty,  she 
stepped  inside. 

When  the  door  opened  again,  and  she 
came  out  with  quick  step  she  glanced 
at  her  watch — the  errand  had  taken 
more  than  its  minute,  and  there  were 
others  to  be  done,  and  they  were  late. 
She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  carriage — 
and  stopped. 

The  coachman,  from  the  corner  of  his 
eye,  waited  for  orders.  But  Miss 
Stone  did  not  stir.  Her  glance  swept 
the  quiet  street  and  came  back  to  the 
carriage — standing  with  empty  cushions 
in  the  shadow  of  the  house. 

The  coachman  turned  a  stolid  eye  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face  and 
wheeled  quickly — his  eye  searching 
space.  "There  wa'n't  nobody!"  he 
said.  He  almost  shouted  it,  and  his  big 
hands  gripped  hard  on  the  reins.  .  .  . 
His  face  was  grey— "There  wa'n't  no 
body  here ! "  he  repeated  dully. 


84  MR.  ACHILLES 

But  Miss  Stone  did  not  look  at  him. 
" Drive  to  the  Greek's.  You  know- 
where  she  went  before."  She  would 
not  give  herself  time  to  think — sitting 
a  little  forward  on  the  seat — of  course 
the  child  had  gone  to  the  Greek — to 
Mr.  Achilles.  .  .  .  They  should  find  her 
in  a  minute.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  think  about — no  shadowy  fear  that 
had  leaped  to  meet  the  look  in  James's 
face  when  it  turned  to  her.  The  child 
would  be  there — 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  the 
shop,  with  its  glowing  lines  of  fruit  un 
der  the  striped  awning,  and  Miss  Stone 
had  descended  before  the  wheel  scraped 
the  curb,  her  glance  searching  the  door 
and  the  dim  room  beyond.  She  halted 
on  the  threshold,  peering  in. 

A  man  came  from  the  rear  of  the 
room,  his  hands  outstretched  to  serve 
her.  The  dark,  clear  face,  with  its 
Greek  lines,  and  the  eyes  that  looked 
out  at  her  held  a  welcome.  "You 
do  me  honour,"  he  said.  "I  hope  Ma 
dame  is  well — and  the  little  Lady — ?" 


FOR  A  LONG  DRIVE  85 

Then  he  stopped.  Something  in  Miss 
Stone's  face  held  him — and  his  hand 
groped  a  little,  reaching  toward  her — 
"You — tell  me — "  he  said. 

But  she  did  not  speak,  and  the  look 
in  her  face  grew  very  still.  .  .  . 

He  turned  sharply — calling  into  the 
shop  behind  him,  and  a  boy  came  run 
ning,  his  eyes  flashing  a  quick  laugh,  his 
teeth  glinting. 

"I  go,"  said  the  man,  with  quick  ges 
ture — "You  keep  shop — I  go."  He 
had  taken  off  his  white  apron  and 
seized  a  hat.  He  touched  the  woman 
on  the  shoulder.  "Come,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  with  dazed 
glance.  .  .  .  And  put  her  hand  to 
her  head.  "I  cannot  think,"  she  said 
slowly. 

He  nodded  with  steady  glance. 
"When  we  go,  you  tell — we  find  her," 
he  said. 

She  started  then  and  looked  at  him— 
and  the  clear  colour  came  to  her  face. 
"You  know — where — she  is!" 

But   he   shook   his    head.     "We   find 


86  MR.  ACHILLES 

her/'      he      repeated.     "You      tell." 

And  as  they  threaded  the  streets — into 
drays  and  past  clanging  cars  and 
through  the  tangle  of  wheels  and  horses 
and  noise — and  she  told  him  the  story, 
shouting  it  above  the  rumble  and  hurry 
of  the  streets,  into  the  dark  ear  that  bent 
beside  her. 

The  look  in  Achilles 's  face  deepened, 
but  its  steady  quiet  did  not  change. 
"We  find  her,"  he  repeated  each 
time,  and  Miss  Stone's  heart  caught 
the  rhythm  of  it,  under  the  hateful 
noise.  "We  find  her.  .  .  ." 

Then  the  great  house  on  the  lake 
faced  them. 

She  looked  at  him  a  minute  in  doubt. 
Her  face  broke — "She  may  have 
come — home?"  she  said. 

"I  go  with  you,"  said  Achilles. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life,  but  the  door 
swung  open  before  them  and  they  went 
into  the  great  hall — up  the  long  stair 
way  that  echoed  only  vacant  softness, 
and  into  the  library  with  its  ranging 
rows  of  perfect  books.  She  motioned 


FOR  A  LONG  DRIVE  87 

him  before  her.  "I  must  tell  them,"  she 
said.  She  passed  through  the  draperies 
of  another  door  and  the  silence  of  the 
great  house  settled  itself  about  the  man 
and  waited  with  him. 


XI 

TWO   MEN   FACE   EACH   OTHEB 

HE  looked  about  the  room  with  quiet 
face.  It  was  the  room  he  had  been  in 
before — the  day  he  spoke  to  the  Hal 
cyon  Club — the  ladies  with  costly  gowns 
and  strange  hats,  who  had  listened  so 
politely  while  he  told  them  of  Athens 
and  his  beloved  land.  The  room  had 
been  lighted  then,  with  coloured  lamps 
and  globes — a  kind  of  rosy  radiance. 
Now  the  daylight  came  in  through  the 
high  windows  and  filtered  down  upon 
him  over  brown  books  and  soft,  leather- 
covered  walls.  There  was  no  sound  in 
the  big  room.  It  seemed  shut  off  from 
the  world  and  Achilles  sat  very  quiet, 
his  dark  face  a  little  bent,  his  gaze  fixed 
on  the  rug  at  his  feet.  He  was  thinking 
of  the  child — and  of  her  face  when  she 
had  lifted  it  to  him  out  of  the  crowded 
street,  that  first  day,  and  smiled  at 

88 


him and  of  their  long  talks  since. 

It  was  the  Child  who  understood.  The 
strange  ladies  had  smiled  at  him  and 
talked  to  him  and  drank  their  tea  and 
talked  again  ...  he  could  hear  the  soft, 
keen  humming  of  their  voices  and  the 
flitter  of  garments  all  about  him  as  they 
moved.  But  the  child  had  sat  very  still- 
only  her  face  lifted,  while  he  told  her 
of  Athens  and  its  beauty  .  .  *  and  he 
had  told  her  again — and  again.  She 
would  never  tire  of  it — as  he  could 

never   tire She   was    a    child   of 

light  in  the  great  new  world.  ...  a 
child  like  himself — in  the  hurry  of  the 

noise A   sound  came   to  him  in 

the  distant  house — people  talking — low 
voices  that  spoke  and  hurried  on.  .  .  . 
The  house  was  awake — quick  questions 
ran  through  it — doors  sounded  and  were 
still.  Achilles  turned  his  face  toward 
the  opening  into  the  long  wide  hall,  and 
waited.  Through  the  vista  there  was  a 
glimpse  of  the  stairway  and  a  figure 
passing  up  it — a  short,  square  man  who 
hurried.  Then  silence  again — more 


90  MR.  ACHILLES 

bells  and  running  feet.  But  no  one 
came  to  the  library — and  no  one  sought 
the  dark  figure  seated  there,  wait 
ing Strange  foreign  faces  flashed 

themselves  in  the  great  mirror  and  out. 
The  outer  door  opened  and  closed 
noiselessly  to  admit  them — uncouth  fig 
ures  that  passed  swiftly  up  the  stair 
way,  glancing  curiously  about  them — 
and  dapper  men  who  did  not  look  up  as 

they  went The  house  settled  again 

to  quiet,  and  the  long  afternoon,  while 
Achilles  waited.  The  light  from  the 
high  windows  grew  dusky  under  chairs 
and  tables ;  it  withdrew  softly  along  the 
gleaming  books  and  hovered  in  the  air 
above  them — a  kind  of  halo — and  the 
shadows  crept  up  and  closed  about  him. 
Through  the  open  door,  a  light  appeared 
in  the  hall.  A  moving  figure  had 
turned  it  on  suddenly.  The  figure  ad 
vanced  to  the  library,  and  paused  in  the 
doorway,  and  came  in.  There  was  a 
minute 's  fumbling  at  the  electric  button, 
and  the  soft  lights  came,  by  magic, 
everywhere  in  the  room.  .  .  .  The  serv- 


Two  MEN  FACE  EACH  OTHER      91 

ant  gave  a  quick  glance  about  him,  and 
started  sternly — and  came  forward.  .  .  . 
Then  he  recognised  the  man.  It  was 
the  Greek.  But  he  looked  at  him 
sternly.  The  day  had  been  full  of  sus 
picion  and  question — and  the  house  was 
alive  to  it — "What  do  you  want?"  he 
said  harshly. 

"I  wait,"  said  Achilles. 

"Who  told  you  to  come?"  demanded 
the  man. 

"I  come.    I  wait,"  said  Achilles. 

The  man  disappeared.  Presently  he 
returned.  "You  come  with  me,"  he 
said.  His  look  was  less  stern,  but  he 
raised  his  voice  a  little,  as  if  speaking 
to  a  child,  or  a  deaf  man.  "You  come 
with  me,"  he  repeated. 

Achilles  followed  with  quick-gliding 
foot — along  the  corridor,  through  a  great 
room — to  a  door.  The  man  paused  and 
lifted  his  hand  and  knocked.  His  back 
was  tense,  as  if  he  held  himself  ready 
to  spring. 

A  voice  sounded  and  he  turned  the 
handle  softly,  and  looked  at  Achilles. 


92  MR.  ACHILLES 

Then  the  door  opened  and  the  Greek 
passed  in  and  the  man  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

A  man  seated  at  a  table  across  the 
room,  looked  up.  .  .  .  For  a  minute  the 
two  men  looked  at  each  other — the  one 
short  and  square  and  red ;  the  other  thin 
as  a  reed,  with  the  dark,  clear  eyes. 

The  short  man  spoke  first.  "What 
do  you  know  about  this?"  His  hand 
pressed  a  heap  of  papers  upon  the  desk 
before  him  and  his  eyes  searched  the 
dark  face. 

Achilles 's  glance  rested  on  the  papers 
— then  it  lifted  itself. 

"Your  name  is  Achilles!"  said  the 
other  sharply. 

"Achilles  Alexandrakis — yes."  The 
Greek  bowed. 

"I  know — she  called  you  Mr.  Achil 
les,"  said  the  man. 

A  shadow  rested  on  the  two  faces, 
looking  at  each  other. 

"She  is  lost,"  said  the  father.  He 
said  it  under  his  breath,  as  if  denying  it. 

"I  find  her,"  said  Achilles  quietly. 


Two  MEN  FACE  EACH  OTHER      93 

The  man  leaned  forward — something 
like  a  sneer  on  his  face.  "She  is 
stolen,  I  tell  you — and  the  rascals  have 
got  at  their  work  quick!"  He  struck 
the  pile  of  papers  on  the  desk.  "They 
will  give  her  up  for  ten  thousand  dol 
lars — to-night."  He  glanced  at  the 
clock  on  the  wall,  ticking  its  minutes, 
hurrying  to  six  o'clock. 

The  dark  eyes  had  followed  the 
glance;  they  came  back  to  the  man's 
face— "You  pay  that — ten  thousand 
dollar?"  said  Achilles. 

"I  shall  be  damned  first!"  said  the 
man  with  slow  emphasis.  "But  we 
shall  find  them—  His  square,  red  jaw 
held  the  words,  "and  they  shall  pay- 
God!  they  shall  pay!"  The  room  rang 
to  the  word.  It  was  a  small  bare  room- 
only  the  table  and  two  chairs,  the  clock 
on  the  wall  and  a  desk  across  the 
room.  "Sit  down,'  said  Philip  Harris. 
He  motioned  to  the  chair  before  him. 

But  Achilles  did  not  take  it,  he  rested 
a  hand  on  the  back,  looking  down  at  him. 
"I  glad — you  not  pay,"  he  said. 


94  MR.  ACHILLES 

The  other  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "I 
shall  pay  the  man  that  finds  her — the 
man  that  brings  her  back!  You  under 
stand  that!"  His  bright,  little  glance 
had  keen  scorn. 

But  the  face  opposite  him  did  not 
change.  "I  find  her,"  said  Achilles 
again. 

"Then  you  get  the  ten  thousand," 
said  the  man.  He  shifted  a  little  in  his 
chair.  They  were  all  alike — these  for 
eigners — money  was  what  they  wanted — 
and  plenty  of  it.  The  sneer  on  his  face 
deepened  abruptly. 

Achilles 's  glance  was  on  the  clock. 
"It  makes  bad — to  pay  that  money,"  he 
said.  "When  you  pay — more  child 
stole — to-morrow,  more  child  stole — 
more  money — "  His  dark  hand  lifted 
itself  out  over  the  houses  of  the  great 
city — and  all  the  sleepy  children  making 
ready  for  bed. 

The  other  nodded.  His  round,  soft 
paunch  pressed  against  the  table  and 
his  quick  eyes  were  on  Achilles 's  face. 
His  great  finger  leaped  out  and  shook 


itself  and  lay  on  the  table.  "I — will — 
not — give — one  cent!"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"You  be  good  man,"  said  Achilles 
solemnly. 

"I  will  not  be  bullied  by  them — and 
I  will  not  be  a  fool!"  He  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  clock — and  a  look  passed  in 
his  face — a  little  whirring  chime  and  the 
clock  was  still. 

In  the  silence,  the  telephone  rang 
sharply.  His  hand  leaped  out — and 
waited — and  his  eye  sought  Achilles — • 
and  gathered  itself,  and  he  lifted  the 
dark,  burring  Thing  to  his  ear. 


XII 

THE    TELEPHONE    SPEAKS 

SLOWLY  the  look  on  his  face  grew 
to  something  hard  and  round  and 
bright.  .  .  .  His  lips  tightened — "is  that 
all? — Good-bye!"  His  voice  sounded  in 
the  tube  and  was  gone,  and  he  hung  up 
the  receiver.  "They  make  it  twenty 
thousand — for  one  hour,"  he  said  drily. 

Achilles  bent  forward,  his  face  on  fire, 
his  finger  pointing  to  the  Thing. 

"They  are  right  there!"  said  the 
man.  He  gave  a  short  laugh — "Can't 
trace  them  that  way — we  have  tried — 
They've  tapped  a  wire.  Central  is  after 
them.  But  they  won't  get  'em — that 
way.  .  .  .  Sit  down  and  I  will  talk  to 
you."  He  motioned  again  to  the  chair 
and  the  Greek  seated  himself,  bending 
forward  a  little  to  catch  the  murmur  and 
half -incoherent  jerks  that  the  man 
spoke. 

96 


THE  TELEPHONE  SPEAKS        97 

Now  and  then  the  Greek  nodded,  or 
his  dark  face  lighted;  and  once  or  twice 
he  spoke.  But  for  the  most  part  it  was 
a  rapid  monologue,  told  in  breathless 
words. 

The  great  Philip  Harris  had  no  hope 
that  the  ignorant  man  sitting  before  him 
could  help  him.  But  there  was  a  curi 
ous  relief  in  talking  to  him;  and  as  he 
talked,  he  found  the  story  shaping  it 
self  in  his  mind — things  related  fell  into 
place,  and  things  apart  came  suddenly 
together.  The  story  ran  back  for 
years — there  had  been  earlier  attempts, 
but  the  child  had  been  guarded  with 
strictest  care;  and  lately  they  had  come 
to  feel  secure.  They  had  thought  the 
band  was  broken  up.  The  blow  had 
fallen  out  of  a  clear  sky.  They  had  not 
the  slightest  clue — all  day  the  detectives 
had  gathered  the  great  city  in  their 
hands — and  sifted  it  through  careful  fin 
gers.  A  dozen  men  had  been  arrested, 
but  there  was  no  clue.  The  New  York 
men  were  on  the  way;  they  would  ar 
rive  in  the  morning,  and  meantime  the 


98  MR.  ACHILLES 

great  man  sat  in  his  bare  room,  helpless. 
He  looked  into  the  dark  eyes  opposite 
him  and  found  a  curious  comfort 
there. . .  "The  child  knew  you,"  he  said. 

"Yes — she  know  me.  We  love,"  said 
Achilles  simply. 

The  other  smiled  a  little.  It  would 
not  have  occurred  to  him  to  say  that 
Betty  loved  him.  He  was  not  sure  that 
she  did — as  he  thought  of  it.  .  .  .  She 
had  always  the  quick  smile  for  him— 
and  for  everyone.  But  there  had  been 
no  time  for  foolishness  between  him  and 
Betty.  He  had  hardly  known  her  for 
the  last  year  or  two.  He  shifted  a  lit 
tle  in  his  place,  shading  his  eyes  from 
the  light,  and  looked  at  the  Greek. 

The  Greek  rose  and  stood  before  him. 
"I  go  now,"  he  said. 

Philip  Harris  made  no  reply.  He 
was  thinking,  behind  his  hand;  and  his 
mind,  wrenched  from  its  stockyards  and 
its  corners  and  deals,  seemed  to  be  grop 
ing  toward  a  point  of  light  that  glim 
mered  somewhere — mistily.  He  could 
not  focus  it.  The  darkness  tricked  him, 


THE  TELEPHONE  SPEAKS        99 

but  somehow,  vaguely,  the  Greek  held  a 
clue.  .  .  .  He  had  known  the  child. 
"Don't  go,"  said  Philip  Harris,  looking 
up  at  last. 

"I  find  her,"  said  Achilles. 

Philip  Harris  shook  his  head.  "You 
cannot  find  her.'1  He  said  it  bitterly. 
"  But  you  can  tell  me — sit  down."  He 
leaned  forward.  "Now,  tell  me — every 
thing — you  know — about  her." 

The  face  of  Achilles  lighted.  "She 
was  a  nice  child,"  he  said  blithely. 

The  man  smiled.     "Yes — go  on." 

So  the  voice  of  Achilles  was  loosened 
and  he  told  of  Betty  Harris — to  her 
father  sitting  absorbed  and  silent.  The 
delight  of  her  walk,  her  little  hands, 
the  very  tones  of  her  voice  were  in  his 
words. 

And  the  big  man  listened  with  intent 
face.  Once  the  telephone  rang  and  he 
stopped  to  take  down  something.  "No 
clue,"  he  said,  "go  on."  And  Achil 
les 's  voice  took  up  the  story  again. 

His  hands  reached  out  in  the  words, 
quick  gestures  made  a  halo  about  them, 


100  MR.  ACHILLES 

lips  and  smiles  spoke,  and  ran  the  words 
to  a  laugh  that  made  the  child's  pres 
ence  in  the  room. 

The  father  listened  dumbly.  Then  si 
lence  fell  in  the  room  and  the  clock 
ticked. 

And  while  the  two  men  sat  in  silence, 
something  came  between  them  and  knit 
them.  .  .  .  And  when  Achilles  rose  to 
go,  the  great  man  held  out  his  hand, 
simply.  "You  have  helped  me,"  he 
said.  .  .  . 

"I  help — yes — "  said  Achilles. 
Then  he  turned  his  head.  A  door 
across  the  room  had  opened  and  a 
woman  stood  in  it — looking  at  them. 


XIII 

EVEBYONE    MUST   PAY 

ACHILLES  saw  her,  and  moved  forward 
swiftly.  But  she  ignored  him — her  eyes 
were  on  the  short,  square  man  seated  at 
the  table,  and  she  came  to  him,  bending 
close.  "You  must  pay,  Phil,"  she  said. 
The  words  held  themselves  in  her  red 
dened  eyes,  and  her  fingers  picked  a  lit 
tle  at  the  lace  on  her  dress  .  .  .  then 
they  trembled  and  reached  out  to  him — 
"You  must  pay!"  she  said  hoarsely. 

But  the  man  did  not  stir. 

The  woman  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked 
at  Achilles.  There  was  no  recognition 
in  the  glance — only  a  kind  of  impatience 
that  he  was  there.  The  Greek  moved 
toward  the  door — but  the  great  man 
stayed  him.  "Don't  go,"  he  said.  He 
reached  up  a  hand  to  his  wife,  laying  it 
on  her  shoulder.  "We  can't  pay,  dear 
est,"  he  said  slowly. 
101 


102  MR.  ACHILLES 

Her  open  lips  regarded  him  and  the 
quick  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  She 
brushed  them  back,  and  looked  at  him — 
"Let  me  pay!"  she  said,  fiercely,  "I  will 
give  up — everything — and  pay!"  She 
had  crouched  to  him,  her  groping  fin 
gers  on  his  arm. 

Above  her  head  the  glances  of  the  two 
men  met. 

Her  husband  bent  to  her,  speaking 
very  slowly  ...  to  a  child. 

"Listen,  Louie — they  might  give  her 
back  to-day — if  we  paid  .  .  .  but  they 
would  take  her  again — to-morrow — next 
week — next  year.  .  .  .  We  shall  never 
be  safe  if  we  pay.  .  .  .  Nobody  will  be 
safe—" 

Her  face  was  on  his  arm,  sobbing 
close.  ...  "I  hate — it!"  she  said  bro 
kenly,  "I  hate — your — money!  I  want 
Betty!"  The  cry  went  through  the 
room — and  the  man  was  on  his  feet, 
looking  down  at  her — 

"Don't,  Louie,"  he  said— "  don 't, 
dear — I  can 't  bear  that !  .  .  .  See,  dear — 
sit  down!"  He  had  placed  her  in  the 


EVERYONE  MUST  PAY         103 

chair  and  was  crooning  to  her,  bending 
to  her.  .  .  .  "We  shall  have  her  back — 
soon — now.  .  ." 

The  telephone  was  whirring  and  he 
sprang  to  it— 

The  woman  lifted  her  face,  staring  at 
it.  ... 

The  Greek's  deep  eyes  fixed  them 
selves  on  it.  ... 

The  room  was  so  still  they  could  hear 
the  tiny,  ironic  words  flinging  themselves 
spitefully  in  the  room  and  biting  upon 
the  air — "Time's  up,"  the  Thing  tit 
tered — "Make  it  fifty  thousand  now — 
for  a  day.  .  .  .  Fifty  thousand  down 
and  child  delivered  safe — Br-r-r-r!" 

The  woman  sprang  forward — "Tell 
them  we'll  pay,  Phil — give  it  to  me — • 
Yes — yes — we'll  pay!"  She  struggled 
a  little — but  the  hand  had  thrust  her 
back  and  the  receiver  was  on  its 
hook.  "We  shall  not  pay!"  said  the 
man  sternly,  "not  if  they  make  it  a 
million ! ' ' 

"I  think  they  make  it  a  million,"  said 
Achilles  quietly. 


104  ME.  ACHILLES 

They  looked  up  at  him  with  startled 
eyes. 

"They  know  you — rich — "  his  hands 
flung  themselves.  "So  rich!  They 
make  you  pay — yes — they  make  every 
one  pay,  I  think!"  His  dark  eyes  were 
on  the  woman  significantly— 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  said 
swiftly. 

"If  you  pay — they  steal  them  every 
where — little  children.  ..."  His  eyes 
seemed  to  see  them  at  play  in  the  sun 
shine — and  the  dark  shadows  stealing 
upon  them.  .  .  .  The  woman's  eyes 
were  on  his  face,  breathless.  .  .  . 

"They  have  taken  Betty!"  she  said. 
It  was  a  broken  cry. 

"We  find  her,"  said  Achilles  sim 
ply.  .  .  .  "Then  little  children  play — 
happy."  He  turned  to  go. 

But  the  woman  stayed  him.  Her  face 
trembled  to  hold  itself  steady  under  his 
glance — "I  want  to  save  the  children, 
too,"  she  said.  "I  will  be  brave!" 

Her    husband's    startled    face    was 


EVERYONE  MUST  PAY        105 

turned  to  her  and  she  smiled  to  it 
bravely.  "Help  me,  Phil!"  she  said. 
She  reached  out  her  hands  to  him  and 
he  took  them  tenderly.  .  .  .  He  had  not 
been  so  near  her  for  years.  She  was 
looking  in  his  face,  smiling  still,  across 
the  white  line  of  her  lip.  "I  shall 
help,"  she  said  slowly.  "But  you  must 
not  trust  me,  dear — not  too  far.  ...  I 
want  my  little  girl- 
There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the 
two  men — and  the  Greek  went  softly 
out,  closing  the  door.  Down  the  wide 
hallway — out  of  the  great  door,  with  its 
stately  carvings  and  the  two  pink  stone 
lions  that  guarded  the  way — out  to  the 
clear  night  of  stars.  The  breeze  blew 
in — a  little  breath  from  the  lake,  that 
lapped  upon  the  breakwater  and  died 
out.  Achilles  stood  very  still — lifting 
his  face  to  it.  ...  Behind  him,  in  the 
city,  little  children  were  asleep  .  .  .  and 
in  the  great  house  the  man  and  the 
woman  waited  alone — for  the  help  that 
was  coming  to  them — running  with 


106  MR.  ACHILLES 

swift  feet  in  the  night.  It  sped  upon 
iron  rails  and  crept  beneath  the  ground 
and  whispered  in  the  air — and  in  the 
heart  of  Achilles  it  dreamed  under  the 
quiet  stars. 


XTV 

THE   PEICE   ACHILLES   PAID 

THE  little  shop  was  closed.  The  fruit- 
trays  had  been  carried  in  and  the  shut 
ters  put  up,  and  from  an  upper  window 
a  line  of  light  gleamed  on  the  deserted 
street.  Achilles  glanced  at  it  and 
turned  into  an  alley  at  the  side,  grop 
ing  his  way  toward  the  rear.  He 
stopped  and  fumbled  for  a  knob  and 
rapped  sharply.  But  a  hand  was  al 
ready  on  the  door,  scrambling  to  undo 
it,  and  an  eager  face  confronted  him, 
flashing  white  teeth  at  him.  "You 
come!"  said  the  boy  swiftly. 

He  turned  and  fled  up  the  stairs  and 
Achilles  followed.  A  faint  sense  of 
onions  was  in  the  air.  Achilles  sniffed 
it  gratefully.  He  remembered  suddenly 
that  he  had  not  eaten  since  morning. 
But  the  boy  did  not  pause  for  him — he 
was  beckoning  with  mysterious  hand 

107 


108  MR.  ACHILLES 

from  a  doorway  and  Achilles  followed. 
"Alcie — got  hurt,"  whispered  the  boy. 
He  was  trembling  with  fear  and  excite 
ment,  and  he  pointed  to  the  bed  across 
the  room. 

Achilles  stepped,  with  lightest  tread, 
and  looked  down.  A  boy,  half  asleep, 
murmured  and  turned  his  head  rest 
lessly.  A  red-clotted  blur  ran  along  the 
forehead,  and  the  face,  streaked  with 
mud,  was  drawn  in  a  look  of  pain — As 
Achilles  bent  over  him,  the  boy  cried 
out  and  threw  up  a  hand ;  then  he  turned 
his  head,  muttering,  and  dozed  again. 

Achilles  withdrew  lightly,  beckoning 
to  the  boy  beside  him. 

Yaxis  followed,  his  eyes  on  the  figure 
on  the  bed — "All  day,"  he  said,  "he  lie 
sick. ' ' 

Achilles  closed  the  door  softly  and 
turned  to  him.  "Tell  me,  Yaxis,  what 
happened,"  he  said. 

The  boy's  face  opened  dramatically. 
"I  look  up — I  see  Alcie — like  that — " 
his  gesture  flitted  to  the  room — "He 
stand  in  door — all  covered  mud — blood 


THE  PRICE  ACHILLES  PAID     109 

run — cart  broke — no  fruit — no  hat." 
The  boy's  hands  were  everywhere,  as  he 
spoke,  dispensing  fruit,  smashing  carts 
and  filling  up  the  broken  words  with 
horror  and  a  flow  of  blood.  Achilles 's 
face  grew  grave.  .  .  .  The  Greeks  were 
not  without  persecution  in  the  land  of 
freedom,  and  his  boy  had  lain  all  day 
suffering — while  he  had  been  lost  in  the 
great  house  by  the  lake. 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  turned  back 
his  sleeves.  "You  bring  water,"  he 
said  gently.  "We  will  see  what  hurts 
him." 

But  the  boy  had  put  his  supper  on  the 
table  and  was  beckoning  him  with  swift 
gesture.  "You  eat,"  he  said  plead 
ingly.  And  Achilles  ate  hastily  and 
gave  directions  for  the  basin  of  water 
and  towels  and  a  sponge,  and  the  boy 
carried  them  into  the  room  beyond. 

Half  an  hour  later  Alcibiades  lay  in 
bed,  his  clothes  removed  and  the  blood 
washed  from  his  face  and  hair.  The 
clotted  line  still  oozed  a  little  on  the 
temple  and  the  look  of  pain  had  not  gone 


110  MR.  ACHILLES 

away.  Achilles  watched  him  with  anx 
ious  eyes.  He  bent  over  the  bed  and 
spoke  to  him  soothingly,  his  voice  gen 
tle  as  a  woman's  in  its  soft  Greek  ac 
cents;  but  the  look  of  pain  in  the  boy's 
face  deepened  and  his  voice  chattered 
shrill 

They  watched  the  ambulance  drive 
away  from  in  front  of  the  striped  awn 
ing.  Achilles  held  a  card  in  his  thin 
fingers — a  card  that  would  admit  him  to 
his  boy.  Yaxis  's  eyes  were  gloomy  with 
dread,  and  his  quick  movements  were 
subdued  as  he  went  about  the  busi 
ness  of  the  shop,  carrying  the  trays  of 
fruit  to  the  stall  outside  and  arranging 
the  fruit  under  the  striped  awning.  He 
was  not  to  go  out  with  the  push-cart  to 
day.  There  was  too  much  work  to  do — 
and  Achilles  could  not  let  the  boy  go 
from  him.  .  .  .  Later,  too,  Achilles 
must  go  to  the  hospital — and  to  the  big 
house  on  the  lake,  and  someone  must 
be  left  with  the  shop. 

So  he  kept  the  boy  beside  him,  look- 


THE  PRICE  ACHILLES  PAID     111 

ing  at  him,  now  and  then,  with  deep, 
quiet  eyes  that  seemed  to  see  the  city 
taking  its  toll  of  life — of  children — the 
children  at  play  and  the  children  at 

work This    land    that    he    had 

sought  with  his  boys — where  the  wind 
of  freedom  blew  fresh  from  the  prairies 
and  the  sea and  even  little  chil 
dren  were  not  safe!  He  seemed  to  see 
it — through  the  day — this  great  monster 
that  gathered  them  in — from  all  lands 
—and  trod  them  beneath  its  great  feet, 
crushing  them,  while  they  lifted  them 
selves  to  it  and  threw  themselves — and 
prayed  to  it  for  the  new  day — that  they 
had  come  so  far  to  seek. 

But  when  Achilles  presented  his 
ticket  for  the  boy,  at  the  hospital  door, 
it  was  a  woman  of  his  own  race  who  met 
him,  dark-eyed  and  strong — and  smiled 
at  him  a  flash  of  sympathy.  "Yes — he 
is  doing  well.  They  operated  at  once.  . . . 
Come  and  see.  But  you  must  not  speak 
to  him."  She  led  him  cautiously  down 
the  long  corridor  between  the  beds — 
"See,  he  is  asleep."  She  bent  over 


112  MR.  ACHILLES 

him,  touching  the  bandage.  Beneath  it, 
the  dark  skin  was  pallid,  but  the  breath 
came  easily  from  the  sleeping  lips. 

She  smiled  at  Achilles,  guiding  him 
from  the  room,  ignoring  the  tears  that 
looked  at  her.  "He  is  doing  well,  you 
see.  It  was  pressure  that  caused  the 
fever,  the  bone  was  not  injured.  He 
will  recover  quickly.  Yes.  We  are 
glad!" 

And  Achilles,  out  under  the  clear  sky, 
raised  his  face  and  caught  the  sound  of 
the  city — its  murmured,  innumerable 
toil  and  the  great  clang  of  wheels  turn 
ing.  .  .  .  And  he  drew  a  deep,  quick 
breath.  ...  A  city  of  power  and  swift 
care  for  its  own.  .  .  .  The  land  of  many 
hands  reaching  out  to  the  world.  .  .  . 
And  Achilles 's  head  lifted  itself  under 
the  sky;  and  a  mighty  force  knit  within 
him — a  deep,  quiet  force  out  of  the  soul 
of  the  past — pledging  itself. 


XV 

THE   POLICE    MOVE 

LIFE  was  busy  for  Achilles.  There  were 
visits  to  the  hospital — where  he  must 
not  speak  to  his  boy,  but  only  look  at 
him  and  catch  little  silent  smiles  from 
the  bandaged  face — and  visits  to  the 
great  house  on  the  lake,  where  he  came 
and  went  freely.  The  doors  swung 
open  of  themselves,  it  seemed,  as  Achil 
les  mounted  the  steps  between  the  lions. 
All  the  pretty  life  and  flutter  of  the 
place  was  changed.  Detectives  went  in 
and  out;  and  instead  of  the  Halcyon 
Club,  the  Chief  of  Police  and  assistants 
held  conferences  in  the  big  library. 
But  there  was  no  clue  to  the  child!  .  .  . 
She  had  withdrawn,  it  seemed,  into  a 
clear  sky.  James  had  been  summoned 
to  the  library  many  times,  and  ques 
tioned  sharply;  but  his  wooden  counte 
nance  held  no  light  and  the  tale  did  not 

113 


114  MR.  ACHILLES 

change  by  a  hair.  He  had  held  the 
horses.  Yes — and  there  wasn't  nobody — 
but  little  Miss  Harris  and  him.  .  .  . 
She  was  in  the  carriage — he  held  the 
horses.  The  horses  ?  They  had  frisked 
a  bit,  maybe,  the  way  horses  will — at  one 
o'  them  autos  that  squirted  by,  and  he 
had  quieted  'em  down — but  there 
wa'n't  nobody.  .  .  .  And  he  was  the 
last  link  between  little  Betty  Harris  and 
the  world — all  the  bustling,  wrestling, 
interested  world  of  Chicago — that 
shouted  extras  and  stared  at  the  house 
on  the  lake  and  peered  in  at  its  life — 
at  the  rising  and  eating  and  sleeping 
that  went  on  behind  the  red-stone  walls. 
The  red-stone  walls  had  thinned  to  a 
veil  and  the  whole  world  might  look 
in — because  a  child  had  been  snatched 
away;  and  the  heart  of  a  city  under 
stood.  But  no  one  but  James  could 
have  told  what  had  happened  to  the 
child  sitting  with  her  little  red  cherries 
in  the  light;  and  James  was  stupid — 
and  in  the  bottomless  abyss  of  James's 
face  the  clue  was  lost. 


THE  POLICE  MOVE  115 

Achilles  had  come  in  for  his  share  of 
questioning.  The  child  had  been  to  his 
shop,  it  seemed.  .  .  .  and  the  papers 
took  it  up  and  made  much  of  it — there 
were  headlines  and  pictures.  .  .  .  the 
public  was  interested.  The  tale  grew 
to  a  romance,  and  fathers  and  mothers 
and  children  in  Boston  and  New  York 
and  London  heard  how  Betty  had  sat  in 
the  gay  little  fruit-shop — and  listened  to 
Achilles 's  stories  of  Athens  and  Greece, 
and  of  the  Acropolis — and  of  the  studies 
in  Greek  history,  and  her  gods  and  god 
desses  and  the  temples  and  ruins  lying 
packed  in  their  boxes  waiting  her  re 
turn.  The  daily  papers  were  a  thrilling 
tale — with  the  quick  touch  of  love  and 
human  sympathy  that  brings  the  world 
together. 

To  Achilles  it  was  as  if  the  hand  of 
Zeus  had  reached  and  touched  the  child — • 
and  she  was  not.  What  god  sheltered 
her  beneath  a  magic  veil — so  that  she 
passed  unseen?  He  lifted  his  face, 
seeking  in  air  and  sun  and  cloud,  a  to 
ken.  Over  the  lake  came  the  great 


116  MR.  ACHILLES 

breeze,  speaking  to  him,  and  out  of  the 
air  a  thousand  hands  reached  to  him— 
to  tell  him  of  the  child.  But  he  could 
not  find  the  place  that  held  her.  In  the 
dusky  shop,  he  held  his  quiet  way.  No 
one,  looking,  would  have  guessed — 
"Two  cen's,  yes,"  and  his  swift  fingers 
made  change  while  his  eyes  searched 
every  face.  But  the  child,  in  her  shining 
cloud,  was  not  revealed. 

When  he  was  summoned  before  the 
detectives  and  questioned,  with  swift 
sternness,  it  was  his  own  questions  that 
demanded  answer — and  got  it.  The 
men  gathered  in  the  library,  baffled  by 
the  search,  and  asking  futile,  dreary 
questions,  learned  to  wait  in  amusement 
for  the  quick,  searching  gestures  flung 
at  them  and  the  eager  face  that  seemed 
to  drink  their  words.  Gradually  they 
came  to  understand — the  Greek  was 
learning  the  science  of  kidnapping — its 
methods  and  devices  and  the  probable 
plan  of  approach.  But  the  Chief  shook 
his  head.  "You  won't  trace  these  men 
by  any  of  the  old  tricks.  It's  a  new 


THE  POLICE  MOVE  117 

deal.  We  shall  only  get  them  by  a 
fluke. "  And  to  his  own  men  he  said, 
"Try  any  old  chance,  boys,  ran  it 
down — if  it  takes  weeks — Harris  won't 
compromise — and  you  may  stumble  on  a 
clue.  The  man  that  finds  it  makes 
money."  Gradually  they  drew  their 
lines  around  the  city;  but  still,  from 
the  tapped  wires,  the  messages  came — 
to  them,  sitting  in  conclave  in  the  li 
brary — to  Philip  Harris  in  his  bare  office 
and  to  the  mother,  waiting  alone  in  her 
room. 

At  last  she  could  not  bear  it.  "I  can 
not  hold  out,  Philip,"  she  said,  one  day, 
when  he  had  come  in  and  found  her 
hanging  up  the  receiver  with  a  fixed 
look.  " Don't  trust  me,  dear.  Take 
me  away."  And  that  night  the  big 
car  had  borne  her  swiftly  from  the 
city,  out  to  the  far-breathing  air  of  the 
plain  and  the  low  hills.  In  her  room 
in  the  house  on  the  lake,  her  little  tel 
ephone  bell  tinkled,  and  waited,  and 
rang  again — baffled  by  long  silence 
and  by  discreet  replies.  .  .  .  The  tapped 


118  MR.  ACHILLES 

wires  concentrated  now  upon  Philip 
Harris,  working  by  suggestion,  and 
veiled  threat,  on  his  overwrought  nerves 
till  his  hand  shook  when  he  reached  out 
to  the  receiver — and  his  voice  betrayed 
him  in  his  denials.  They  were  closing 
on  him,  with  hints  of  an  ultimatum. 
He  dared  not  trust  himself.  He  left 
the  house  to  the  detectives  and  went 
down  to  the  offices,  where  he  could  work 
and  no  one  could  get  at  him.  Every 
message  from  the  outside  world  came 
to  him  sifted,  and  he  breathed  more 
freely  as  he  took  up  the  telephone.  The 
routine  of  business  steadied  him.  In  a 
week  he  should  be  himself — -he  could  re 
turn  to  the  attack. 

Then  a  message  got  through  to  him — 
up  through  the  offices.  The  man  who 
delivered  it  spoke  in  a  clear,  straight 
voice  that  did  not  rise  or  fall.  He  had 
agreed  to  give  the  message,  he  said — a 
hundred  thousand  paid  to-day,  or  no 
communication  for  three  months.  The 
child  would  be  taken  out  of  the  coun 
try.  The  men  behind  the  deal  were 


THE  POLICE  MOVE  119 

getting  tired  and  would  drop  the  whole 
business.  They  had  been  more  than 
fair  in  the  chances  they  had  offered  for 

compromise There  was  a  little 

pause  in  the  message — then  the  voice 
went  on,  "I  am  one  of  your  own  men, 
Harris,  inside  the  works — a  man  that 
you  killed — in  the  way  of  business.  I 
agreed  to  give  you  the  message — for 
quits.  Good-bye."  The  voice  rang  off 
and  Philip  Harris  sat  alone. 

A  man  that  he  had  killed — in  the  way 

of  business — ! Hundreds  of 

them — at  work  for  him — New  York — 
Cincinnati — St.  Louis.  It  would  not  be 
easy — to  trace  a  man  that  he  had  killed 
in  business 

So  he  sat  with  bent  head,  in  the  circle 
of  his  own  works  .  .  .  the  network  he 
had  spread  over  the  land — and  some 
where,  outside  that  circle,  his  child,  the 
very  heart,  was  held  as  hostage — three 
months.  .  .  .  Little  Betty!  He  shiv 
ered  a  little  and  got  up  and  reached  for 
a  flask  of  brandy  and  poured  it  out, 
gulping  it  down.  He  looked  about  the 


120  MR.  ACHILLES 

room.  .  .  .  inside  now.  He  had  shut 
himself  in  his  citadel.  .  .  .  and  they 
were  inside.  The  brandy  stayed  his 
hand  from  shaking — but  he  knew  that 

he  had  weakened His  mind  went 

back  to  the  man  he  had  "  killed  in  busi 
ness" — the  straight,  clear  voice  sound 
ing  over  the  'phone — he  had  not 
wanted  to  ruin  him — them,  hundreds  of 
them — It  was  the  System — kill  or  be 
killed.  .  .  .  He  took  his  chance  and  they 
took  theirs — and  they  had  gone  down. 


XVI 

A   CLUE   GOES    TO    SLEEP 

THE  morning  was  alive  in  the  hospital. 
The  sun  glinted  in.  Pale  faces,  lifted 
on  their  pillows,  turned  toward  it;  and 
Achilles,  passing  with  light  step  be 
tween  the  rows,  smiled  at  them.  Alci- 
biades  was  better.  They  had  told  him, 
in  the  office,  that  he  might  talk  to  him 
to-day — a  little  while — and  his  face 
glowed  with  the  joy  of  it. 

The  boy  hailed  him,  from  far  down 
the  ward,  his  weak  voice  filled  with 
gladness,  and  Achilles  hurried.  He 
dropped  into  the  chair  beside  him  and 
took  the  thin  hand  in  his  strong,  dark 
one,  holding  it  while  he  talked — gentle 
words,  full  of  the  morning  and  of  going 
home.  The  boy's  eyes  brightened, 
watching  his  father's  face. 

"Pain — gone,"  he  said,  " — all  gone." 
His  hand  lifted  to  his  forehead. 
121 


122  MR.  ACHILLES 

Achilles  bent  forward  and  touched  it 
lightly,  brushing  the  hair  across  it. 
"You  are  well  now,"  he  said  gratefully. 

The  boy  smiled,  his  dark  eyes  fixed 
absently  on  his  thoughts.  "They — bad 
men!"  he  said  abruptly. 

Achilles  leaned  forward  with  anxious 
look,  but  the  boy's  eyes  were  clear. 
"They  run  down,"  he  said  quietly, 
" — and  go  fast — like  wind — I  try — I 
run.  They  shout  and  hit  cart — and 
swear — and  I  lie  on  ground.  .  .  ." 
His  lifted  eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  up 
at  some  great  object  passing  close  above 
him  .  .  .  and  a  look  of  dread  held  them. 
He  drew  a  quick  breath.  "They  bad 
men—  '  he  said.  "Little  girl  cry!" 

Achilles  bent  forward,  holding  his 
breath.  "What  was  it— Alcie?" 

The  boy's  eyes  turned  toward  him 
trustingly.  "They  hurt  bad,"  he  said. 
"I  try— I  run—" 

"And  the  little  girl — f"  suggested 
Achilles  gently.  His  voice  would  not 
have  turned  the  breath  of  a  dream;  but 
Alcibiades  wrinkled  his  forehead.  "She 


A  CLUE  GOES  TO  SLEEP          123 

cry—  '  he  said.  "She  look  at  me  and 
cry — quick — They  hurt  that  little  girl 
— Yes — she  cry—  His  eyes  closed 
sleepily.  The  nurse  came  forward. 

"Better  not  talk  any  more,"  she  said. 

Achilles  got  to  his  feet.  He  bent 
over  the  boy,  his  heart  beating  fast. 
"Good-bye,  Alcie.  To-morrow  you  tell 
me  more — all  about  the  little  girl.  .  ." 
The  words  dropped  quietly  into  the 
sleeping  ear  and  the  boy  turned  his 

face "To-morrow — tell — about — 

little  girl "he  murmured — and 

was  asleep. 

Achilles  passed  swiftly  out  of  the  hos 
pital — through  the  sun-glinting  wards, 
out  to  the  free  air — his  heart  choking 
him.  At  the  corner,  he  caught  a  car 
bound  for  the  South  side  and  boarded 
it. 

And  at  the  same  moment  Philip  Har 
ris,  in  his  office  in  the  works,  was  sum 
moning  the  Chief  of  Police  to  instruct 
him  to  open  negotiations  with  the  kid 
nappers. 

But  Achilles   reached  the  office  first 


124  MR.  ACHILLES 

and  before  noon  every  member  of  the 
force  knew  that  a  clue  had  been  found — 
a  clue  light  as  a  child's  breath  be 
tween  sleep  and  waking,  but  none  the 
less  a  clue — and  to-morrow  more  would 
be  known. 

So  Philip  Harris  stayed  his  hand — 
because  of  the  muttered,  half-incoher 
ent  word  of  a  Greek  boy,  drowsing  in  a 
great  sunny  ward,  the  millionaire 
waited — and  little  children  were  safer 
that  night. 


xvn 

PHILIP   HARRIS    WAKES   UP 

BUT  the  surgeon,  the  next  morning, 
shook  his  head  peremptorily.  .  .  .  His 
patient  had  been  tampered  with,  and 
was  worse — it  was  a  critical  case — all 
the  skill  and  science  of  modern  surgery 

involved    in    it the    brain    had 

barely  escaped — by  a  breath,  it  might 

be — no    one    could   tell but   the 

boy  must  be  kept  quiet.  There  must  be 
no  more  agitation.  They  must  wait  for 
full  recovery.  Above  all — nothing  that 
recalled  the  accident.  Let  nature  take 
her  own  time — and  the  boy  might  yet 
speak  out  clearly  and  tell  them  what  they 
wanted — otherwise  the  staff  could  not 
be  responsible. 

It  was  to  Philip  Harris  himself  that 
the  decree  was  given,  sitting  in  the  con 
sulting-room  of  the  white  hospital- 
looking  about  him  with  quick  eyes.  He 

125 


126  MR.  ACHILLES 

had  taken  out  his  cheque-book  and 
written  a  sum  that  doubled  the  efficiency 
of  the  hospital,  and  the  surgeon  had 
thanked  him  quietly  and  laid  it  aside. 
"Everything  is  being  done  for  the  boy, 
Mr.  Harris,  that  we  can  do.  But  one 
cannot  foresee  the  result.  He  may 
come  through  with  clear  mind — he  may 
remember  the  past — he  may  remember 
part  of  it — but  not  the  part  you 
want But  not  a  breath  must  dis 
turb  him — that  is  the  one  thing  clear— 
and  it  is  our  only  chance."  His  eyes 
were  gentle  and  keen,  and  Philip  Harris 
straightened  himself  a  little  beneath 
them.  The  cheque,  laid  one  side,  looked 

suddenly  small  and  empty and 

the  great  stockyards  were  a  blur  in  his 
thought.  .  .  .  Not  all  of  them  together, 
it  seemed,  could  buy  the  skill  that  was 
being  given  freely  for  a  Greek  waif,  or 
hurry  by  a  hair's  breadth  the  tiny  glob 
ule  of  grey  matter  that  held  his  life. 

"Tell  me  if  there  is  anything  I  can 
do,"  he  said.  He  had  risen  and  was 
facing  the  surgeon,  looking  at  him 


like  a  little  boy — with  his  hat  in  his 
hand. 

The  surgeon  returned  the  look. 
' '  There  will  be  plenty  to  do,  Mr.  Harris. 
This,  for  instance—  He  took  up  the 
cheque  and  looked  at  it  and  folded  it  in 
slow  fingers.  "It  will  be  a  big  lift  to 
the  hospital  ....  and  the  boy — there 
will  be  things  later — for  the  boy— 

"Private  room?"  suggested  the  great 
man. 

"No — the  ward  is  better.  It  gives 
him  interests — keeps  his  mind  off  him 
self  and  keeps  him  from  remembering 
things.  But  when  he  can  be  moved,  he 
must  be  in  the  country — good  food,  fresh 
air,  things  to  amuse  him — he's  a  jolly  lit 
tle  chap!"  The  surgeon  laughed  out. 
' '  Oh,  we  shall  bring  him  through. ' '  He 
added  it  almost  gaily.  "He  is  so  sane — 
he  is  a  Greek!" 

Philip  Harris  looked  at  him,  uncom 
prehending.  "How  long  before  he  can 
be  moved?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

The  surgeon  paused — "two  weeks- 
three — perhaps — I  must  have  him  under 


128  MR.  ACHILLES 

my  eye — I  can't  tell — "  He  looked  at 
the  great  man  keenly.  "What  he  really 
needs,  is  someone  to  come  in  for  awhile 
everyday — to  talk  with  him — or  keep 
quiet  with  him — someone  with  sense." 

"His  father?"  said  Philip  Harris. 

"Not  his  father.  It  must  be  someone 
he  has  never  seen — no  memories  to 
puzzle  him — yet.  But  someone  that  he 
might  have  known  always — all  his  life." 

"That  is  Miss  Stone,"  said  Philip 
Harris  promptly. 

"Does  he  know  Miss  Stone?"  asked 
the  surgeon. 

Philip  Harris  shook  his  head.  "No 
one  knows  Miss  Stone,"  he  said;  "but 
she  is  the  friendliest  person  in  all  the 
world — when  I  get  to  heaven,  I  hope 
Marcia  Stone  will  be  there  to  show  me 
around — just  to  take  the  edge  off."  He 
smiled  a  little. 

"Well,  she  is  the  person  we  want — 
can  she  come?" 

"She  sits  at  home  with  her  hands 
folded,"  said  Philip  Harris.  He 
waited  a  minute.  "She  was  my  little 


Pliilip  Harris  enjoyed  it  as  if  he  were  playing 
with  the  stock  exchange  of  a  world 


girl's  friend,"  he  said  at  last.  "They 
were  always  together." 

"I  remember —  The  surgeon  held 
out  his  hand.  ' l  Let  her  come.  She  will 
be  invaluable."  His  voice  had  a 
friendly  ring.  It  was  no  longer  a  mil 
lionaire  that  faced  him — handing  out 
cheques — but  a  father,  like  himself. 
There  were  four  of  them  at  home,  wait 
ing  on  the  stairs  for  him  to  come  at 
night — and  he  suddenly  saw  that  Philip 
Harris  was  a  brave  man— holding  out 
for  them  all — waiting  while  the  little 
fleck  of  grey  matter  knit  itself.  He 
looked  at  him  a  minute  keenly — "Why 
not  come  in  yourself,  now  and  then," 
he  said,  "as  he  gets  better?  Later, 
when  you  take  him  away,  he  will  know 
you — better  for  him." 

So  the  ward  became  familiar  with  the 
red  face  and  Prince  Albert  coat  and 
striped  trousers  and  patent  leather 
shoes,  crunching  softly  down  the  still, 
white  room.  It  was  a  new  Philip  Har 
ris,  sauntering  in  at  noon  with  a  roll  of 
pictures — a  box  of  sweets,  enough  candy 


130  MR.  ACHILLES 

to  ruin  the  ward — a  phonograph  under 
one  arm  and  a  new  bull  pup  under  the 
other.  The  pup  sprawled  on  the  floor 
and  waked  happy  laughs  up  and  down 
the  ward  and  was  borne  out,  struggling, 
by  a  hygienic  nurse,  and  locked  in  the 
bathroom.  The  phonograph  stayed  and 
played  little  tunes  for  them — jolly  tunes, 
of  the  music  hall,  and  all  outdoors.  And 
Philip  Harris  enjoyed  it  as  if  he  were 
playing  with  the  stock  exchange  of  a 
world.  The  brain  that  could  play  with 
a  world  when  it  liked,  was  devoted  now, 
night  and  day,  to  a  great  hospital  stand 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  plain,  and  to  the 
big  free  ward,  and  to  a  dark  face,  flash 
ing  a  smile  when  he  came. 


XVIII 

( '  OlSTCE 1 SAW ' ' 

Miss  STONE  sat  by  the  boy  on  the  lawn 
at  Idlewood.  A  great  canopy  of 
khaki  duck  was  spread  above  them,  and 
the  boy  lay  on  a  wicker  couch  that  could 
be  lifted  and  carried  from  place  to  place 
as  the  wind  or  the  sun,  or  a  whim  di 
rected. 

Five  days  they  had  been  here — every 
day  full  of  sunshine  and  the  fragrance 
of  flowers  from  the  garden  that  ran 
along  the  terraces  from  the  house  to  the 
river  bank,  and  was  a  riot  of  midsum 
mer  colour  and  scent.  .  .  .  The  boy's 
face  had  gained  clear  freshness  and  his 
eyes,  fixed  on  Miss  Stone's  face,  glowed. 
"I  like — it — here,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  Alcie."  Miss  Stone  bent  to 
ward  him.  "You  are  getting  strong 
every  day — you  will  soon  be  able 
to  walk — to-morrow,  perhaps."  She 

131 


132  ME.  ACHILLES 

glanced  at  the  thin  legs  under  their 
light  covering. 

The  boy  laughed  a  little  and  moved 
them.  "I  can  walk  now — '  he  de 
clared. 

But  she  shook  her  head.  '  *  Now  I  will 
tell  you  a  story.  ..."  So  her  voice 
went  on  and  on  in  the  summer  quiet — 
insects  buzzed  faintly,  playing  the  song 
of  the  day.  Bees  bumbled  among  the 
flowers  and  flew  past,  laden.  The  boy's 
eyes  followed  them.  The  shadow  of  a 
crow's  wing  dropped  on  the  grass  and 
drifted  by.  The  summer  day  held  it 
self  .  .  .  and  Miss  Stone's  voice  wove  a 
dream  through  it. 

When  the  boy  opened  his  eyes  again 
she  was  sitting  very  quiet,  her  hands  in 
her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  river  that 

flowed  beyond  the  garden The 

boy's  eyes  studied  her  face.  . . .  ''Once — 
I — saw — you — "  he  said.  His  hand  stole 
out  and  touched  the  grey  dress. 

Miss      Stone      started.    They      had 


"ONCE— I— SAW-  133 

waited  a  long  time — but  not  for  this — 
"Yes — Alcie — once  you  saw  me — go 
on—" 

" — saw  you — in  a  carriage,"  finished 
Alcie,  with  quick  smile  "You  ride 
straight  —  you  —  straight  —  now. ' '  He 
looked  at  her  with  devoted  eyes. 

"Yes."  She  was  holding  her  breath, 
very  evenly — and  she  did  not  look  at 
him,  but  at  the  distant  river.  They 
seemed  held  in  a  charm — a  word  might 
break  it. 

The  boy  breathed  a  happy  sigh — that 
bubbled  forth — "I  like  it — here,"  he 
said  dreamily Should  she  speak? 

The  long  silence  spread  between  them. 
The  bird  sang  in  the  wood — a  clear,  mid 
summer  call. 

The  boy  listened,  and  turned  his  eyes. 
"A  little  girl — with  you  then,"  he  said 
softly,  "in  carriage.  .  .  .  Where  is  lit 
tle — girl?"  It  was  the  first  question  he 
had  asked. 

She  swayed  a  little — in  her  grey  soft 
ness — but  she  did  not  look  at  him,  but 


134  MR.  ACHILLES 

at  the  river.  "You  would  like  that  lit 
tle  girl,  Alcie,"  she  said  quietly.  "We 
all  love  her.  Some  day  you  shall  see 
her — only  get  well  and  you  shall  see 
her."  It  was  a  soft  word,  like  a  cry, 
and  the  boy  looked  at  her  with  curious 
eyes. 

"I  get  well,"  he  said  contentedly,  "I 
see  her."  He  slipped  a  hand  under  his 
cheek  and  lay  quiet. 

"Doing  well,"  said  the  surgeon, 
"couldn't  be  better."  He  had  run 
down  for  the  day  and  was  to  go  back  in 
the  cool  evening. 

He  stood  with  Philip  Harris  on  the 
terrace  overlooking  the  river.  Harris 
threw  away  a  stump  of  cigar.  .  .  . 
"You  think  he  will  make  complete  re 
covery?" 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  surgeon 
promptly. 

"Then—?"  Philip  Harris  turned  a 
quick  eye  on  him. 

But  the  man  shook  his  head.  '  *  Wait, ' ' 
he  said — and  again,  slowly,  "Wait." 


"ONCE— I— SAW— "  135 

The  darkness  closed  around  them,  but 
they  did  not  break  it.  A  faint  question 
ing  honk  sounded,  and  Philip  Harris 
turned.  "The  car  is  ready,"  he  said, 
' '  to  take  you  back. ' ' 


XIX 

A  WOMAN   IN   THE   GARDEN 


it  comes,  it  may  come  all  at 
once,"  the  surgeon  had  said,  "  —  and 
overwhelm  him.  Better  lead  up  to  it  — 
if  we  can  —  let  him  recall  it  —  a  bit  here  — 
a  bit  there  —  feel  his  way  back  —  to  the 
old  place  —  to  himself." 

"Where  my  child  is,"  said  Philip 
Harris. 

"Where  your  child  is,"  repeated  the 
surgeon,  "and  that  clue  runs  through 
the  frailest,  intangiblest  matter  that 
fingers  ever  touched."  He  had  looked 
down  at  his  own  thin,  long,  firm  fingers 
as  if  doubting  that  they  could  have  held 
that  thread  for  a  moment  and  left  it  in 
tact. 

Philip  Harris  moved  restively  a  little, 
and  came  back.  "There  has  not  been  a 
word  for  seven  weeks,"  he  said,  "  —  not 
a  breath  —  " 

136 


A  WOMAN  IN  THE  GARDEN     137 

"They  told  you — ?"  said  the  surgeon. 

' '  That  they  would  wait  three  months ! 
Yes!"  Philip  Harris  puffed  fiercely. 
"It  is  hell!"  he  said. 

"The  boy  is  better,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"You  have  only  to  wait  a  little  longer 
now. ' ' 

And  he  had  whirred  away  in  the  great 
car — to  the  children  that  needed  him, 
and  Idlewood  had  settled,  in  its  charmed 

stillness,  into  the  night No  one 

would  have  guessed  that  it  was  a  state 
of  siege  there — the  world  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  big  gates — automobiles  and 
drays  and  foot  passengers,  winding  their 
way  up  to  the  low,  rambling  house  that 
wandered  through  the  fiowers  toward 
the  river  and  the  wood.  Windows  were 
open  everywhere  and  voices  sounded 
through  the  garden. 

In  one  of  the  rooms,  darkened  to  the 
light,  the  mistress  of  the  house  lay  with 
closed  eyes.  She  could  not  bear  the 
light,  or  the  sound  of  voices — listening 
always  to  hear  a  child's  laugh  among 
them — the  gay  little  laugh  that  ran 


138  MR.  ACHILLES 

toward  her  in  every  room,  and 
called. 

She  had  shut  herself  away,  and  only 
Philip  Harris  came  to  the  closed  room, 
bringing  her  news  of  the  search,  or  sit 
ting  quietly  by  her  in  the  darkness.  But 
for  weeks  there  had  been  no  news,  no 
clue.  The  search  was  baffled.  .  .  . 
They  had  not  told  her  of  the  Greek  boy 
and  the  muttered  words. 

1 1 Better  not  trouble  her,"  the  physi 
cian  had  urged.  "She  cannot  bear  dis 
appointment — if  nothing  comes  of  it." 

And  no  word  filtered  through  to  the 
dim  room  ....  and  all  the  clues  with 
drew  in  darkness. 

Out  in  the  garden  Alcibiades  and  Miss 
Stone  worked  among  the  flowers.  It 
was  part  of  the  cure — that  they  should 
work  there  among  growing  things  every 
day — close  to  the  earth — and  his  voice 
sounded  happily  as  they  worked. 

The  woman  in  the  closed  room  turned 
her  head  uneasily.  She  listened  a  mo 
ment.  Then  she  called  ....  Marie 
stood  in  the  doorway. 


"Who  is  there — Marie — in  the  gar 
den?" 

The  maid  stole  to  the  window  and 
peered  through  the  shutters.  She  came 
back  to  the  bed.  "It's  a  boy,"  she  said, 
" — a  Greek  boy — and  Miss  Stone." 

'  *  Why  is  he  here  ? ' '  asked  the  woman, 
querulously. 

The  maid  paused — discreet.  She 
knew — everyone  except  the  woman  lying 
with  closed  eyes — knew  why  the  boy  was 

here She  bent  and  adjusted  the 

pillow,  smoothing  it.  "He  is  someone 
Mr.  Harris  sent  down,"  she  said, 
" — someone  to  get  well.  ..." 

There  was  no  reply.  The  woman  lay 
quiet.  "I  want  to  get  up,  Marie,"  she 
said  at  last.  "It  is  stifling  here.'' 

"Yes,  Madame." 

The  windows  were  opened  a  little — 
the  light  came  in  slowly,  and  Mrs.  Philip 
Harris  stepped  at  last  into  the  loggia 
that  led  from  her  windows — out  toward 
the  garden.  Grapevines  climbed  the 
posts  and  tendril  shadows  were  on  the 
ground  beneath.  They  rested  on  the 


140  MR.  ACHILLES 

frail  figure  moving  under  them  toward 
the  light. 

Marie  hovered  near  her,  with  pillows 
and  a  sunshade,  and  her  face  full  of 
care. 

But  the  woman  waved  her  back.  "I 
do  not  need  you,  Marie.  Here — I  will 
take  the  sunshade.  Now,  go  back." 
She  moved  on  slowly.  The  voices  had 
died  away.  In  the  distance,  she  saw 
Miss  Stone,  moving  toward  the  wood, 
alone.  She  paused  for  a  moment, 
watching  the  grey  figure — a  little  cloud 
passed  across  her  face.  She  had  not 

seen  Miss  Stone — since She  did 

not  blame  her — but  she  could  not  see 

her She  moved  on  slowly,  the 

light  from  the  sunshade  touching  the 
lines  in  her  face  and  flushing  them 
softly  ....  Suddenly  she  stopped.  On  a 
low  couch,  a  little  distance  away,  a  boy 

lay  asleep She  came  up  to  him 

softly  and  stood  watching  him.  .  .  . 
There  was  something  in  the  flushed  face, 
in  the  childish,  drooping  lip  and  tossed 
hair — that  reminded  her.  .  .  .  Slowly  she 


A  WOMAN  IN  THE  GARDEN     141 

sank  down  beside  him,  hardly  breath 
ing. 

All  about  them,  the  summer  went 
on — the  quiet,  gentle  warmth  and  the 
fresh  scent  of  blossoms.  .  .  .  The  boy 
murmured  a  little,  and  threw  out  an 
arm,  and  slept  on.  The  woman's  eyes 
watched  the  sleeping  face.  Something 
mysterious  was  in  it — a  look  of  other 
worlds.  ...  It  was  the  look  of  Betty — 
at  night  .  .  .  when  she  lay  asleep.  .  .  . 
It  certainly  was  from  some  other  world. 
The  woman  bent  forward  a  little.  .  .  . 
The  dark  eyes  opened — and  looked  at 
her — and  smiled.  The  boy  sat  up.  "I 
sleep,"  he  said. 

He  rubbed  his  eyes,  boyishly,  smiling 
still  to  her.  "I  very  sleepy,"  he  said. 
"I  work."  He  rubbed  his  arms.  "I 
work  hard." 

She  questioned  him  and  moved  a  lit 
tle  away,  and  he  came  and  sat  at  her 
feet,  telling  her  of  himself — with  quiet 
slowness — As  she  questioned  him  he  told 
her — all  that  he  knew.  .  .  .  And  they 
chatted  in  the  sunshine — subtly  drawn 


142  MR.  ACHILLES 

to  each  other — happy  in  something  they 
could  not  have  said. 

The  boy  had  grown  refined  by  his  ill 
ness — the  sturdy  hands  that  had  guided 
the  push-cart  had  lost  their  roughened 
look  and  seemed  the  shape  of  some  old 
statue;  and  the  head,  poised  on  the 
round  throat,  was  as  if  some  old  mu 
seum  had  come  to  life  and  laughed  in 
the  sun.  If  Mrs.  Philip  Harris  had 
seen  Alcibiades  shoving  his  cart  before 
him,  along  the  cobbled  street,  his  head 
thrown  back,  his  voice  calling  "Ban-an 
nas!"  as  he  went,  she  would  not  have 
given  him  a  thought.  But  here,  in  her 
garden,  in  the  white  clothes  that  he 
wore,  and  sitting  at  her  feet,  it  was  as 
if  the  gates  to  another  world  had 
opened  to  them — and  both  looked  back 

together    at    his    own    life The 

mystery  in  the  boy's  eyes  stirred  her — 
and  the  sound  of  his  voice  ....  there 
was  something  in  it  ...  beauty,  won 
der — mystery.  .  .  .  She  drew  a  quick 

breath "I  think  I  will  go  in," 

she  said,  and  the  boy  lifted  himself  to 


A  WOMAN  IN  THE  GARDEN     143 

help  her — and  only  left  her,  under  the 
loggia,  with  a  quick,  grateful  flash  of 
the  dark  smile. 

Mrs.  Philip  Harris  slept  that  night — 
the  chloral,  on  the  little  table  beside  her, 
untouched.  And  the  next  day  found 
her  in  the  garden. 

All  the  household  watched — with 
quickened  hope.  .  .  .  The  mistress  of 
the  house  had  taken  up  her  life,  and  the 
old  quick  orders  ran  through  the 

house And  no  one  spoke  of  the 

child.  It  was  as  if  she  were  asleep — in 
some  distant  room — veiled  in  her  cloud. 
But  the  house  came  back  to  its  life.  Only, 
the  social  groups  that  had  filled  it  every 
summer  were  not  there.  .  .  .  But  there 
was  the  Greek  boy,  in  the  garden,  and 
Miss  Stone,  and  Philip  Harris  whirring 
out  at  night  and  sitting  on  the  terrace 
in  the  dusk,  the  light  of  his  cigar  glim 
mering  a  little,  as  he  watched  the  Greek 
boy  flung  on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  his 
eyes  playing  with  the  stars.  He  knew 
them  all  by  name  under  the  skies  of 
Greece.  Achilles  had  taught  them  to 


144  MR.  ACHILLES 

him;  and  he  counted  them,  like  a  flock, 
as  he  lay  on  the  terrace — rolling  out  the 
great  Greek  names  while  they  girdled 
the  sky  above  him  in  a  kind  of  homely 
chant. 

When  the  boy  had  gone  to  bed  Philip 
Harris  remained  smoking  thoughtfully 
and  looking  still  at  the  stars.  He  had 
had  a  long  talk  with  the  surgeon  to-day 
and  he  had  given  his  consent.  The  boy 
was  well,  he  admitted — as  well  as  he  was 
likely  to  be — perhaps.  Give  him  three 
more  days — then,  if  nothing  happened, 
they  might  question  him. 

Philip  Harris  threw  away  his  cigar — 
and  its  glimmering  light  went  out  in 
the  grass.  Overhead  the  great  stars 
still  circled  in  space,  travelling  on  to 
ward  the  new  day. 


XX 

THE   TEST    IS    MADE 


i  t 


I  WILL  ask  the  questions,"  Achilles 
had  said,  in  his  quiet  voice,  and  it  had 
been  arranged  that  he  should  come  to 
Idlewood  when  the  surgeon  gave  the 
word. 

He  arrived  the  next  night,  stepping 
from  the  car  as  it  drew  up  before  the 
door,  and  Alcibiades,  standing  among 
the  flowers  talking  with  Miss  Stone,  saw 
him  and  started  and  came  forward 

swiftly He  had  not  known  that 

his  father  was  coming — he  ran  a  little  as 
he  came  nearer  and  threw  himself  in  his 
arms,  laughing  out. 

Achilles  smiled — a  dark,  wistful 
smile.  "You  are  grown  strong,"  he 
said.  He  held  him  off  to  look  at 
him. 

The  boy's  teeth  gleamed — a  white 
line,  "To-morrow  we  go  home?"  he  re- 

145 


146  Mfc.  ACHILLES 

plied.  "I  am  all  well — father — well 
now ! ' ' 

But  Achilles  shook  his  head.  "To 
morrow  we  stay,"  he  replied.  "I  stay 
one  day  —  two  days  —  three  — "  He 
looked  at  the  boy  narrowly — "Then  we 
go  home." 

The  boy  smiled  contentedly  and  they 
moved  away.  Early  the  next  morning 
he  was  up  before  Achilles,  calling  to  him 
from  the  garden  to  hurry  and  see  the 
flowers  before  the  mist  was  off  them, 
and  showing  him,  with  eager  teeth,  his 
own  radishes — ready  to  pull — and  little 
lines  of  green  lettuce  that  sprang  above 
the  earth.  "I  plant,"  said  the  boy 
proudly.  "I  make  grow."  He  swung 
his  arm  over  the  whole  garden. 

Achilles  watched  him  with  gentle  face, 
following  him  from  bed  to  bed  and 
stooping  to  the  plants  with  courteous 

gesture It  was  all  like  home. 

They  had  never  been  in  a  garden  be 
fore — in  this  new  land  ....  the  melons 
and  berries  and  plums  and  peaches  and 
pears  that  came  crated  into  the  little 


THE  TEST  Is  MADE          147 

fruit-shop  had  grown  in  unknown  fields — 
but  here  they  stretched  in  the  sun;  and 
the  two  Greeks  moved  toward  them 
with  laughing,  gentle  words  and  quick 
gestures  that  flitted  and  stopped,  and 
went  on,  and  gathered  in  the  day.  The 
new  world  was  gathering  its  sky  about 
them;  and  their  faces  turned  to  meet 

it And  with  every  gesture  of  the 

boy,  Achilles 's  eyes  were  on  him,  study 
ing  his  face,  its  quick  colour  running  be 
neath  the  tan,  and  the  clear  light  of  his 
eyes.  Indoors  or  out,  he  was  testing 
him;  and  with  every  gesture  his  heart 
sang.  His  boy  was  well  .  .  .  and  he 
held  a  key  that  should  open  the  dark 
door  that  baffled  them  all.  .  .  .  When 
he  spoke,  that  door  would  open  for 
them — a  little  way,  perhaps — only  a  lit 
tle  way — but  the  rest  would  be  clear. 
And  soon  the  boy  would  speak. 

In  the  house  Philip  Harris  waited; 
and  with  him  the  chief  of  police,  detec 
tives  and  plain-clothes  men — summoned 
hastily — waited  what  should  develop. 
They  watched  the  boy  and  his  father, 


148  ME.  ACHILLES 

from  a  distance,  and  speculated  and 
made  guesses  on  what  he  would  know; 
for  weeks  they  had  been  waiting  on  a 
sick  boy's  whim — held  back  by  the  doc 
tor's  orders.  They  watched  him  mov 
ing  across  the  garden — his  quick,  sup 
ple  gestures,  his  live  face — the  boy  was 
well  enough!  They  smoked  innumer 
able  cigars  and  strolled  out  through  the 
grounds  and  sat  by  the  river,  and  threw 
stones  into  its  sluggish  current,  waiting 
while  hours  went  by.  .  .  .  Since  the  ulti 
matum — a  hundred  thousand  for  three 
months — not  a  line  had  reached  them, 
no  message  over  the  whispering  wires — 
the  child  might  be  in  the  city,  hidden 
in  some  safe  corner;  she  might  be  in 
Europe,  or  in  Timbuctoo.  There  had 
been  time  enough  to  smuggle  her  away. 
Every  port  had  been  watched,  but  there 
was  the  Canadian  line  stretching  to  the 
north,  and  the  men  who  were  "on  the 
deal"  would  stop  at  nothing.  .  .  .  They 
had  been  approached,  tentatively,  in  the 
beginning,  for  a  share  of  profits;  but 
they  had  scorned  the  overture.  ' i  Catch 
me — if  you  can ! ' '  the  voice  laughed  and 


THE  TEST  Is  MADE          149 

rang  off.  The  police  were  hot  against 
them.  .  .  .  Just  one  clue — the  merest 
clue — and  they  would  run  it  to  earth — 
like  bloodhounds.  They  chewed  the 
ends  of  their  cigars  and  waited  .  .  . 
and  in  the  garden  the  boy  and  his  father 
watched  the  clouds  go  by  and  talked  of 
Athens  and  gods  and  temples  and  sunny 
streets.  Back  through  the  past,  care 
free  they  went — and  at  every  turn  the 
boy's  memory  rang  true.  .  .  .  "Do  you 
remember,  Alcie — the  little  house  below 
the  Temple  of  the  Winds—"  Achil 
les 's  eyes  were  on  his  face — and  the 
boy's  face  laughed — "Yes — father. 
That  house — "  quick  running  words  that 
tripped  themselves — "where  I  stole — 
figs — three  little  figs.  .  .  .  You  whipped 
me  then!"  The  boy  laughed  and 
turned  on  his  side  and  watched  the 
clouds  and  the  talk  ran  on  ...  coming 
closer  at  last,  across  the  great  Sea, 
through  New  York  and  the  long  hurry 
ing  train,  into  the  grimy  city — on  the 
shore  of  the  lake — the  boy's  eyes  grew 
wistful.  ...  "I  go  home — with  you — 
father — ?"  he  said.  It  was  a  quick 


150  MR.  ACHILLES 

question  and  his  eyes  flashed  from  the 
garden  to  his  father's  face. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  home,  Alcie?" 
The  face  smiled  at  him.  "Don't  you 
like  it  here?"  A  gesture  touched  the 
garden. 

"I  like — yes.  I  go  home — with  you," 
he  said  simply. 

"You  must  stay  till  you  are  strong," 
said  the  father,  watching  him.  "You 
were  hurt,  you  know.  It  takes  time  to 
get  strong.  .  .  .  You  remember  that  you 
were  hurt.  .  .  .?" 

The  words  dropped  slowly,  one  by  one, 
and  the  day  drowsed.  The  sun — warm 
as  Athens — shone  down,  waiting  while 
the  boy  turned  slowly  on  his  side  .  .  . 
his  eyes  had  grown  dark.  ...  "I 
try — remember.  ..."  His  voice  was 
half  a  whisper,  " — but  it  runs — away!" 
The  eyes  seemed  to  be  straining  to  see 
something  beyond  them — through  a  veil. 

Achilles 's  hand  passed  before  them 
.and  shut  them  off.  .  .  .  "Don't  try,  Al- 
cie.  Never  mind — it's  all  right.  Don't 
mind ! ' ' 


THE  TEST  Is  MADE          151 

But  the  boy  had  thrown  himself  for 
ward  with  a  long  cry,  sobbing.  .  .  . 
"I — want — to — see,"  he  said,  "It — 
hurts — here."  His  fingers  touched  the 
faint  line  along  his  forehead.  And 
Achilles  bent  and  kissed  it,  and  soothed 
him,  talking  low  words — till  the  boy  sat 
up,  a  little  laugh  on  his  lips — his  grief 
forgotten. 

So  the  detectives  went  back  to  the  city 
— each  with  his  expensive  cigar — curs 
ing  luck.  And  Achilles,  after  a  day  or 
two,  followed  them.  "He  will  be  better 
without  you,"  said  the  surgeon.  "You 
disturb  his  mind.  Let  him  have  time  to 
get  quiet  again.  Give  nature  her 
chance." 

So  Achilles  returned  to  the  city,  un 
locking  the  boy's  fingers  from  his. 
"You  must  wait  a  little  while,"  he  said 
gently.  "Then  I  come  for  you."  And 
he  left  the  boy  in  the  garden,  looking 
after  the  great  machine  that  bore  him 
away — an  unfathomable  look  in  his 
dark,  following  eyes. 


XXI 

A   CONNOISSEUR   SPEAKS 

THE  next  day  it  rained.  All  day  the 
rain  dripped  on  the  roof  and  ran  down 
the  waterspouts,  hurrying  to  the  ground. 
In  her  own  room  the  mistress  of  the 
house  sat  watching  the  rain  and  the 

heavy   sky    and    drenched   earth 

The  child  was  never  for  a  minute  out  of 
her  thoughts  . . .  her  fancy  pictured  grue 
some  places,  foul  dens  where  the  child 

sat — pale  and  worn  and  listless 

Did  they  tie  her  hands?  Would 
they  let  her  run  about  a  little — and 
play?  But  she  could  not  play — a  child 
could  not  play  in  all  the  strangeness 

and  sordidness The  mother  had 

watched  the  dripping  rain  too  long.  .  .  . 
It  seemed  to  be  falling  on  coffins. 
She  crept  back  to  the  fire  and  held  out 
her  hands  to  a  feeble  blaze  that  flick 
ered  up,  and  died  out.  .  .  .  Why  did  not 

152 


A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS       153 

Marie  come  back  ?  It  was  three  o  'clock- 
where  was  Marie?  She  looked  about 
her  and  held  out  her  hands  to  the  blaze 
and  shivered — there  was  fire  in  her  veins, 
and  beside  her  on  the  hearth  the  child 
seemed  to  crouch  and  shiver  and  reach 

out  thin  hands  to  the  warmth 

Phil  had  said  they  would  not  hurt 
her!  .  .  .  But  what  could  a  man 
know?  He  did  not  know  the  sensitive 
child-nature  that  trembled  at  a  word.  .  . 
And  she  was  with  rough  men — hideous 
women — longing  to  come  home — won 
dering  why  they  did  not  come  for  her 
and  take  her  away  ....  dear  child!  .... 
How  cruel  Phil  was !  She  crouched 
nearer  the  fire,  her  eyes  devouring  it — 
her  thoughts  crowding  on  the  dark 
ness  ....  Those  terrible  men  had  been 
silent  seven  weeks — more  than  seven- 
desperate  weeks  ....  not  a  word  out 
of  the  darkness — and  she  could  not  cry 
out  to  them — perhaps  they  would  not 
tap  the  wires  again — !  The  thought 
confronted  her  and  she  sprang  up  and 
walked  wildly,  her  pulses  beating  in  her 


154  MR.  ACHILLES 

temples She  stopped  by  a  table 

and  looked  down.  A  little  vial  lay 
there,  and  the  medicine  dropper  and 
wine  glass — waiting.  She  turned  her 
head  uneasily  and  moved  away.  She 
must  save  it  for  the  night — for  the  dark 
hours  that  never  passed.  .  .  .  But  she 
must  think  of  something!  She  glanced 
about  her,  and  rang  the  bell  sharply,  and 
waited. 

"I  want  the  Greek  boy,"  she  said, 
''send  him  to  me!" 

"Yes,  madame."  Marie's  voice  hur 
ried  itself  away  .  .  .  and  Alcibiades 
stood  in  the  door,  looking  in. 

The  woman  turned  to  him — a  little 
comfort  shining  in  the  sleepless  eyes, 
"Come  in,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you — tell  me  about  Athens — the  sun 
shines  there!"  She  glanced  again  at 
the  hearth  and  shivered. 

The  boy  came  in,  flashing  a  gleam 
through  the  dark  day.  The  little  sad 
ness  of  the  night  before  had  gone.  He 
was  alive  and  lithe  and  happy.  He 
came  over  to  her,  smiling and 


A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS       155 

she  looked  at  him  curiously — "What 
have  you  been  doing  all  day?"  she 
asked. 

"I  play—  "*  said  Alcibiades,  "I  play- 
on  flute—  His  fingers  made  little 
music  gestures  at  his  lips,  and  fell  away, 
' '  And  I — run—  ' '  he  said,  "  I  go  in  rain— 
and  run — and  come  in."  He  shook 
Ms  dark  head.  Little  gleams  of  mois 
ture  shone  from  it.  The  earth  seemed 
to  breathe  about  him. 

She  drew  a  quick  breath.  "You  shall 
tell  me,"  she  said,  "but  not  here— 
She  glanced  about  the  room  filled  with 
sickness  and  wild  thoughts — not  even 
the  boy's  presence  dispelled  them. 
"We  will  go  away  somewhere — to  the 
gallery,"  she  said  quickly,  "it  is  lighter 
there.  .  .  .  and  I  have  not  been  there 
for  weeks."  Her  voice  dropped  a  little. 

The  boy  followed  her  through  the  hall, 
across  a  covered  way,  to  the  gallery 
that  held  the  gems — and  the  refuse- 
that  Philip  Harris  had  gathered  up 
from  the  world.  She  looked  about  her 
with  a  proud,  imperious  gesture.  She 


156  MR.  ACHILLES 

knew — better  now  than  when  the  pic 
tures  were  purchased — which  ones  were 
good,  and  which  were  very  bad ;  but  she 
could  not  interfere  with  the  gallery.  It 
was  Philip's  own  place  in  the  house.  It 
had  been  his  fancy — to  buy  pictures — 
when  the  money  came  pouring  in  faster 
than  they  could  spend  it — and  the  gal 
lery  was  his  own  private  venture — his 
gymnasium  in  culture!  She  smiled  a 
little.  Over  there,  a  great  canvas  had 
been  taken  down  and  carted  off  to  make 
room  for  the  little  Monticelli  in  its  place. 
He  was  learning — yes!  But  she  could 
not  bring  guests  to  the  gallery  when 
they  came  to  Idlewood  for  the  day.  .  .  . 
If  he  would  only  let  a  connoisseur  go 
through  the  place  and  pick  out  the  best 
ones — the  gallery  was  not  so  bad!  She 
looked  about  her  with  curious,  tolerant 
smile. 

The  boy's  gaze  followed  hers.  He 
had  not  been  in  this  big  room,  with  the 
high-reaching  skylight,  and  the  vari 
coloured  pictures  and  grey  walls.  His 
dark  eyes  went  everywhere — and  flashed 


A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS       157 

smiles  and  brought  a  touch-stone  to  the 
place.  Eyes  trained  to  the  Acropolis 
were  on  the  pictures;  and  the  temples 
of  the  gods  spoke  in  swift  words  or 
laughed  out  in  quick  surprise. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  followed 
him,  with  amused  step.  If  Phil  could 
only  hear  it !  She  must  manage  some 
how — Phil  was  too  shrewd  and  practical 
not  to  see  how  true  the  boy  was — and 
how  keen !  That  great  Thing — over  the 
fireplace — Chicago  on  her  throne,  with 
the  nations  prostrate  before  her — how 
the  boy  wondered  and  chuckled — and 
questioned  her — and  brought  the  colour 
to  her  face !  .  .  .  Philip  had  stood  be 
fore  the  picture  by  the  hour — entranced ; 
the  man  who  painted  it  had  made  a  key 
to  go  with  it,  and  Philip  Harris  knew 
the  meaning  of  every  line  and  figure — 
and  he  gloried  and  wallowed  in  it. 
"That  is  a  picture  with  some  sense  in 
it!"  was  his  proudest  word,  standing 
before  it  and  waving  his  hand  at  the 
vision  on  her  throne.  She  was  a  lovely 
lady — a  little  like  his  wife,  Philip  Har- 


158  MR.  ACHILLES 

ris  thought.  Perhaps  the  artist  had  not 
been  unaware  of  this.  Certainly  Mrs. 
Philip  Harris  knew  it,  and  loathed  the 
Thing.  The  boy's  words  were  like  mu 
sic  to  her  soul,  under  the  skylight  with 
the  rain  dripping  softly  down.  .  .  .  She 
had  thought  of  covering  the  thing  up— 
a  velvet  curtain,  perhaps.  But  she 

had  not  quite  dared  yet Across  the 

room  another  picture  was  covered  by  a 
curtain — the  velvet  folds  sweeping 
straight  in  front  of  it,  and  covering  it 
from  top  to  bottom.  Only  the  rim  of 
the  gilt  frame  that  reached  to  the  ceil 
ing,  glimmered  about  the  blue  folds 

of   the    curtain The    boy's    eyes 

had  rested  on  the  curtained  picture  as 
they  passed  before  it,  but  Mrs.  Philip 
Harris  had  not  turned  her  head. 
She  felt  the  boy's  eyes  now — they 
had  wandered  to  it  again,  and  he  stood 
with  half-parted  lips,  as  if  something 
behind  the  curtain  called  to  him.  She 
touched  him  subtly  and  drew  his  atten 
tion — and  he  followed  her  a  minute  .... 
then  his  attention  wandered  and  he 


"  It  is  Betty— my  little  girl  " 


A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS       159 

gazed  at  the  deep  folds  in  the  curtain 
with  troubled  eyes.  She  hesitated  a  mo 
ment — and  her  hand  trembled.  It  was 
as  if  the  curtain  were  calling  her,  too, 
and  she  moved  toward  it,  the  boy  beside 

her They    did    not    speak — they 

moved  blindly  and  paused  a  breath  .... 
the  rain  falling  on  the  skylight.  The 
boy  flashed  a  smile  to  her.  ...  "I  have 
not  seen  it,"  he  said. 

She  reached  out  her  hand  then  and 
drew  back  the  curtain.  "It  is  Betty — 
my  little  girl—  '  she  said,  "she  has 
gone  away—  She  was  talking  aim 
lessly — to  steady  her  hands.  But  the 
boy  did  not  hear  her — he  had  stumbled 
a  little — and  his  eyes  were  on  the  pic 
ture — searching  the  roguish  smile,  the 
wide  eyes,  the  straight,  true  little  figure 
that  seemed  stepping  toward  them — 

out    from    behind    her    curtain 

The  mother's  eyes  feasted  on  it  a 
moment  hungrily  and  she  turned  to  the 
hoy.  But  he  did  not  see — his  gaze  was 
on  the  picture — and  he  took  a  step— 
and  looked — and  drew  his  hand  across 


160  MR.  ACHILLES 

his  eyes  with  a  little  breath.  Then  he 
reached  out  his  hands,  " — I — see — her," 
he  said  swiftly.  "She  look  at  me — on 
ground — she  cry — "  His  face  worked 
a  minute — then  it  grew  quiet  and  he 
turned  it  toward  her.  "I  see — her,"  he 
repeated  slowly. 

She  had  seized  his  shoulder  and  was 
questioning  him,  forcing  him  toward  the 
picture,  calling  the  words  into  his  ear 
as  if  he  were  deaf,  or  far  away — and  the 
boy  responded  slowly — truly,  each  word 
lighting  up  the  scene  for  her — the  great 
car  crashing  upon  him,  the  overthrow  of 
his  cart,  the  scattered  fruit  on  the 
ground,  and  the  Greek  boy  crawling  to 
ward  it — thrust  forward  as  the  car 
pushed  by — and  his  swift,  upward 
glance  of  the  girl's  face  as  it  flashed 
past,  and  of  the  men  holding  her  be 
tween  them — "She  cry,"  he  said — as  if 
he  saw  the  vision  again  before  him, 
"She  cry — and  they  stop — hands."  He 
placed  both  hands  across  his  mouth, 
shutting  out  words  and  cry. 

And  the  mother  fondled  him  and  cried 


A  CONNOISSEUR  SPEAKS       161 

to  him  and  questioned  him  again.  She 
had  no  fear — no  knowledge  of  what 
might  hang  in  the  balance — of  the  deli 
cate  grey  matter  that  trembled  at  her 
strokes  ...  no  surgeon  would  have 
dared  question  so  sternly,  so  unspar 
ingly.  But  the  delicate  brain  held  it 
self  steady  and  the  boy's  eyes  were 
turned  to  her — piecing  her  broken 
words,  answering  them  before  they 
came — as  if  she  drew  them  forth  at 
will- 

The  door  opened  and  she  looked  up 
and  sprang  forward.  .  .  .  "  Listen,  Phil. 
He  saw  Betty!"  Her  hand  trembled  to 
the  boy.  "He  saw  her — that  last  day — 
it  must  be — tell  him,  Alcie— 

The  boy  was  looking  at  him  smiling 
quietly,  and  nodding  to  him. 

Philip  Harris  closed  the  door  with  set 
face. 


xxn 

"WHAT  DID  YOU  SEE?'* 

did  you  see — boy?"  Philip 
Harris  stood  with  his  legs  well  apart, 
looking  at  him. 

The  boy  answered  quietly,  his  quick 
gesture  running  to  the  picture  above 
them,  and  filling  out  his  words.  .  .  .  He 
had  gathered  the  story  of  the  child  as 
the  mother  had  gathered  his — and  his 
voice  trembled  a  little,  but  it  did  not 
falter  in  the  broken  words. 

Philip  Harris  drew  a  deep  breath. 
" Would  you  know  these  men?"  he 
asked. 

"I  know  them — yes."  The  clear  eyes 
were  on  his  face. 

Philip  Harris  glanced  up.  The  rain 
on  the  skylight  had  ceased,  but  the  room 
was  full  of  dusk.  .  .  .  "There  is  not 
time,"  he  said,  "to-night —  You  must 
rest  now,  and  have  your  dinner  and  go 

162 


"WHAT  DID  You  SEE?"       163 

to  bed.  .  .  .  To-morroAv  there  will  be 
men  to  question  you.  You  must  tell 
them  what  you  have  told  us." 

"I  tell  them,"  said  the  boy  simply, 
"—what  I  see." 

So  the  boy  slept  quietly  ....  and 
through  the  night,  messages  ran  beneath 
the  ground,  they  leaped  out  and  struck 
wires — and  laughed  .  .  .  Men  bent 
their  heads  to  listen  ....  and  spoke 
softly  and  hurried.  Cars  thrust  them 
selves  forth,  striking  at  the  miles — their 
great  bulk  sliding  on.  The  world  was 
awake — gathering  itself  .  .  .  toward  the 
boy. 

In  the  morning  they  questioned  him— 
they  set  down  his  answers  with  quick, 
sharp  jerks  that  asked  for  more.  And 
the  boy  repeated  faithfully  all  that  he 
had  told;  and  the  surgeon  sitting  be 
side  him  watched  with  keen  eyes — and 
smiled.  . . .  The  boy  would  hold.  He  was 
sound.  But  they  must  be  careful  .  .  . 
and  after  a  little  he  sent  him  into 
the  garden  to  work — while  the  men  com 
pared  notes  and  sent  despatches  and  the 


164  MR.  ACHILLES 

story  travelled  into  the  world,  tallying 
itself  against  the  face  of  every  rogue. 
But  there  were  no  faces  that  matched 
it — no  faces  such  as  the  boy  had  cher 
ished  with  minute  care  ....  as  if  the 
features  had  been  stamped — one  flash 
ing  stroke — upon  his  brain,  and  disap 
peared.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of 
them — the  description  of  the  child  was 
perfect — red  cherries,  grey  coat — and 
floating  curls.  .  .  .  He  seemed  to  see  the 
face  before  him  as  he  talked — and  the 
face  of  the  big  man  at  her  left,  with  red 
moustache  and  sharp  chin — and  the 
smaller  man  beside  her,  who  had  clapped 
his  hand  across  her  mouth  and  glared 
at  the  boy  on  the  ground — his  eyes  were 
black — yes,  and  he  wore  a  cap — pulled 
down,  and  collar  up — you  only  saw  the 
eyes — black  as.  ...  The  boy  had  looked 
about  him  a  minute,  and  pointed  to  the 
shoes  of  the  chief  of  police  gleaming  in 
the  sunlight — patent  leathers,  and  dress 
suit,  hurried  away  from  a  political  ban 
quet  the  night  before.  The  men  smiled 


"WHAT  DID  You  SEE?''      165 

and  the  pencils  raced.  .  .  .  There  had 
been  another  man  who  drove  the  ma 
chine,  but  the  boy  had  not  noticed  him— 
his  swift  glance  had  taken  in  only  the 
child,  it  seemed,  and  the  faces  that 
framed  her. 

A  little  later  they  drove  into  the  city — 
the  boy  accompanying  them,  and  the 
surgeon  and  Achilles,  who  had  hurried 
out  with  the  first  news  and  had  listened 
to  his  son's  story  with  dark,  silent  eyes. 
He  sat  in  the  car  close  to  Alcibiades, 
one  hand  on  the  back  of  the  seat,  the 
other  on  the  boy's  hand.  Through  the 
long  miles  they  did  not  speak.  The  boy 
seemed  resting  in  his  father's  strength. 
It  was  only  when  they  reached  the  scene 
of  his  disaster  that  he  roused  himself 
and  pointed  with  quick  finger — to  the 

place    where   he    had    fallen He 

was  pushing  his  cart — so — and  he  looked 
up — quick — and  his  cart  went — so!— 
and  all  his  fruit,  and  he  was  down — look 
ing  up — and  the  car  went  by,  close.  .  .  . 
Which  way?—  He  could  not  tell 


166  MR.  ACHILLES 

that — no.  .  .  .  He    shut    his    eyes — his 
face     grew    pale.  .  .  .  He    could    not 

tell 

The  street  forked  here — it  might 
have  been  either  way — by  swerving  a 
little.  .  .  .  And  the  police  looked  wise 
and  took  notes  and  reporters  photo 
graphed  the  spot  and  before  night  a 
crowd  had  gathered  about  it,  peering 
hopefully  at  the  pavement  where  Alci- 
biades  had  lain,  and  pointing  with  eager 
fingers  to  bits  of  peel — orange  and 
banana —  scattered  by  the  last  passer-by, 
and  gazing  at  dark  stains  on  the  pave 
ment — something  that  might  be  marks 
of  blood — after  ten  weeks  of  rain  and 
mud  and  dust! 

Achilles  and  the  boy  returned  to  the 
shop.  "I  want  to  go  home,"  the  boy 
had  said,  as  the  car  turned  away,  "I — 
go — home — with  you,  father."  So  they 
had  drawn  up  at  the  little  fruit  shop; 
and  Yaxis  in  the  door,  his  teeth  gleam 
ing,  had  darted  out  to  meet  them,  hov 
ering  about  them  and  helping  his 


"WHAT  DID  You  SEE?"      167 

brother  up  the  stairs  and  out  to  the  ve 
randah  that  ran  across  the  windows  at 
the  rear.  Down  below,  in  tin-can  back 
yards  of  the  neighbours,  old  bottles  and 
piles  of  broken  lumber  filled  the  place; 
but  along  the  edge  of  the  verandah, 
boxes  of  earth  had  been  set,  and  vines 
ran  to  the  top,  shutting  out  the  glare  of 
the  brick  walls  opposite  and  making  a 
cool  spot  in  the  blank  heat. 

Alcibiades  looked  at  the  vines  with 
happy  eyes.  "They  grow,"  he  said 
softly. 

Yaxis  nodded  and  produced  a  pot  of 
forget-me-nots.  He  had  been  tending 
them  for  three  weeks — for  Alcie.  They 
bent  over  the  pot,  blue  with  blossoms, 
talking  eager  words  and  little  gestures 
and  quick  laughs.  .  .  .  And  Achilles, 
coming  out,  smiled  at  the  two  heads 
bending  above  the  plant.  Yaxis  had 
been  lonely — but  now  the  little  laughs 
seemed  to  stir  softly  in  the  close  rooms 
and  wake  something  happy  there. 


xxin 

ACHILLES   HAS  A   PLAN 

THE  next  day,  life  in  the  little  shop  went 
on  as  if  there  had  been  no  break.  With 
the  early  light,  Yaxis  was  off,  to  the 
south,  pushing  his  tip-cart  before  him 
and  calling  aloud — bananas  and  fruit 
and  the  joy  of  Alcibiades's  return,  in 
his  clear,  high  voice.  ...  In  the  shop, 
Achilles  arranged  the  fruit — great  piles 
of  oranges,  and  grape  fruit  and  figs — 
and  swung  the  heavy  bunches  of  ba 
nanas  to'  their  hooks  outside,  and  opened 
crates  and  boxes  and  made  ready  for  the 
day.  By  and  by,  when  trade  slackened 
a  little,  he  would  slip  away  and  leave 
Alcibiades  in  charge  of  the  shop.  .  .  . 
His  mind  was  busy  as  he  worked. 
He  had  something  to  do  that  would  take 
him  away  from  the  shop — every  day  for 
a  while,  it  might  be — but  the  shop  would 
not  suffer.  Alcibiades  was  strong — not 

168 


ACHILLES  HAS  A  PLAN       169 

well  enough,  perhaps,  to  go  out  with  the 
new  push-cart  that  had  replaced  the  old 
one,  and  waited  outside,  but  strong 
enough  to  make  change  and  fill  up  the 
holes  in  the  piles  of  oranges  as  they 
diminished  under  the  swift  rush  of 
trade. 

Achilles 's  eyes  rested  on  him  fondly. 
It  had  been  lonely  in  the  shop — but  now 
the  long  days  of  waiting  were  re 
paid  ....  they  had  their  clue.  Even 
now  the  detectives  might  have  followed 
it  up  ....  The  little  lady  would  be 
found  ....  He  hurried  over  the  last 
things — his  heart  singing — and  called 
the  boy  to  him. 

"I  go  away,"  he  said,  looking  at  him 
kindly.  "You  stay  in  shop — till  I 
come." 

"Yes,  father."  The  boy's  eyes  were 
happy.  It  was  good  to  be  in  the  close, 
dark,  home  place  with  its  fruity  smell 
and  the  striped  awning  outside.  "I  do 
all  right!"  he  said  gaily. 

The  father  nodded.  "To-morrow  you 
go  with  push-cart — little  way — every 


170  MR.  ACHILLES 

day  little  way — "  he  waited  a  moment 
while  the  boy's  face  took  in  the  words- 
he  spoke  with  slow  significance — 
"Some  day  you  see — those  men — then 
you  run — like  devil!"  he  said  quickly, 
"you  tell  me!" 

The  boy's  teeth  made  a  quick  line  of 
light  and  his  face  flashed.  "I  tell — 
quick!"  he  said,  "I  know  those 
men ! ' ' 

The  father  nodded.  "Not  to-day. 
You  not  strong  enough  to-day.  To 
morrow  you  go — you  watch  always — 
those  men." 

He  left  the  shop  and  was  lost  in  the 
crowd.  He  was  going  first  to  the  city 
hall  for  news — then  he  would  seek 
Philip  Harris.  The  plan  that  he  was 
shaping  in  his  mind  needed  help. 

But  at  the  city  hall  there  was  no  news. 
The  chief  of  police  seemed  even  a  little 
irritated  at  the  sight  of  the  dark  face 
and  the  slim,  straight  figure  that  stood 
before  him.  He  eyed  it  a  moment,  al~ 
most  hostilely;  then  he  remembered 
Philip  Harris's  commands  and  told  the 


ACHILLES  HAS  A  PLAN       171 

man  what  steps  had  been  taken  and  the 
reports  that  had  come  in  thus  far 
through  the  day.  The  Greek  listened 
without  comment,  his  dark  face  smoul 
dering  a  little  over  its  quick  fire. 
"You  find  nothing?"  he  said  quietly. 

"Not  a  damn  thing!"  answered  the 
chief. 

"I  go  try,"  said  Achilles. 

The  man  looked  at  him.  Then  he 
laughed  out.  The  door  opened.  It  was 
the  detective  in  charge  of  the  case.  He 
glanced  at  Achilles  and  went  over  to  the 
chief  and  said  something.  But  the  chief 
shook  his  head  and  they  looked  care 
lessly  at  Achilles,  while  the  chief 
drummed  on  the  desk.  Achilles  waited 
with  slow,  respectful  gaze. 

The  detective  came  across  to  him. 
"No  news,"  he  said. 

Achilles 's  face  held  its  steady  light. 
"I  think  we  find  her,"  he  said. 

The  inspector  did  not  laugh.  He 
studied  the  man's  face  slowly,  whistling 
a  little  between  his  teeth.  "What's 
your  plan?"  he  said. 


172  MR.  ACHILLES 

Achilles  shook  his  head.  "  When  I 
see  those  men — I  go  follow." 

The  detective  smiled — a  little  line  of 
smile  .  .  .  that  did  not  scorn  him. 
"When  you  see  them — yes!"  he  said 
softly. 

The  chief  of  police,  listening  with 
half  an  ear,  laughed  out.  "Catch  your 
hare,  Alexander!"  He  said  it  with  su 
perior  ease. 

Achilles  looked  at  him.  "I  catch 
hair?"  he  asked  with  polite  interest. 

The  chief  nodded.  "You  catch 
your  hare  before  you  cook  it,  you 
know. ' ' 

Achilles  ran  a  slim,  thoughtful  hand 
along  his  dark  locks  and  shook  them 
slowly.  „  .  .  The  conversation  had 
passed  beyond  him. 

The  detective  smiled  a  little.  "Never 
mind  him,  Alexander.  Anything  that 
you  find — you  bring  to  me — right  off." 
He  clinked  a  little  money  in  his  pocket 
and  looked  at  him. 

But  Achilles 's  gaze  had  no  returning 
gleam.  "When  I  find  her,"  he  said,  "I 


ACHILLES  HAS  A  PLAN       173 

tell  you — I  tell  everybody."  His  face 
had  lightened  now. 

The  detective  laughed.  "All  right, 
Alexander!  You're  game,  all  right!" 

Achilles  looked  at  him  with  puzzled 
eyes.  "I  go  now,"  he  said.  He  moved 
away  with  the  smooth,  unhurried 
rhythm  that  bore  him  swiftly  along. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  followed  him. 
"  You  're  welcome  to  him!"  said  the 
chief  carelessly. 

' '  I  don 't  feel  so  sure, ' '  said  the  other — 
"He  may  do  it  yet — right  under  our 
noses.  .  .  .  I've  done  it  myself — you 
know. ' ' 

The  chief  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"I  used  to  do  it — time  and  again," 
said  the  man,  thoughtfully.  "I  couldn't 
'a'  told  you — how.  I'd  study  on  a  case — 
and  study — and  give  it  up — and  then,  all 
of  a  sudden — pop! — and  there  it  was — 
in  my  head.  I  couldn't  have  told  how 
it  got  there,  but  it  worked  all  right!" 
He  lighted  a  cigar  and  threw  the  match 
from  him,  puffing  slowly.  "I'd  do  it 
now — if  I  could".  ,  He  was  lost  in 


174  ME.  ACHILLES 

thought.  .  .  .  "There's  something  in 
his  eyes — that  Greek.  .  .  I'd  like  to  be 
inside  that  black  skull  of  his  a  minute. ' ' 
He  sauntered  across  the  room  and  went 
out. 

The  eyes  of  the  chief  of  police  looked 
after  him  vaguely.  He  drew  a  column 
of  figures  toward  him  and  began  to  add 
it — starting  at  the  bottom  and  travel 
ling  slowly  up.  He  was  computing  his 
revenues  for  the  coming  year. 


XXIV 

IT    FLOATS   A   LITTLE 

ACHILLES  found  Philip  Harris  at  lunch 
eon,  and  waited  for  him  to  come  back, 
and  laid  his  plan  before  him. 

The  millionaire  listened,  and  nodded 
once  or  twice,  and  took  up  the  receiver 
and  gave  an  order.  "He'll  be  at  your 
place  every  day,"  he  said  to  Achilles  as 
he  hung  it  up.  "You  tell  him  what  you 
want — and  let  me  know  if  there's  any 
thing  else — money — ?"  He  looked  at 
him. 

But  Achilles  shook  his  head.  "I 
got  money,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  get 
money — six-seven  dollar — every  day.  I 
do  good  business!" 

The  millionaire  smiled,  a  little  bit 
terly.  "I  do  good  business,  too;  but  it 
doesn't  seem  to  count  much.  Well — let 
me  know — "  He  held  out  his  hand  and 
Achilles  took  it  and  hesitated  and  looked 

175 


176  MR.  ACHILLES 

at  the  seamed  red  face  that  waited  for 
him  to  go — then  he  went  quietly  out. 

He  would  have  liked  to  speak  swift 
words  of  hope — they  rode  high  in  his 
heart — but  something  in  the  face  put 
him  off  and  he  went  out  into  the  sun 
shine  and  walked  fast.  He  looked  far 
ahead  as  he  went,  smiling  softly  at  his 
dream.  And  now  and  then  a  man 
passed  him — and  looked  back  and  smiled 
too — a  shrewd,  tolerant,  grown-up 
smile. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning 
Philip  Harris's  big  touring  car  drew  up 
in  front  of  the  striped  awning;  it  gave 
a  little  plaintive  honk — and  stood  still. 
Achilles  came  to  the  door  with  swift 
look.  He  turned  back  to  the  shop.  "I 
;go,"  he  said  to  Alcibiades,  and  stepped 
across  the  pavement,  and  was  off. 

At  two  o'clock  he  returned  to  the 
shop,  his  face  covered  with  big  beads  of 
perspiration,  his  hat  gone  and  his  eyes 
shining — and,  without  a  word,  he  went 
about  the  shop  with  his  wonted  air  of 


IT  FLOATS  A  LITTLE         177 

swift-moving  silence.  But  the  next  day 
he  was  off  again,  and  the  next ;  and  Al- 
cibiades  grew  accustomed  to  the  long 
car  slipping  up  and  the  straight,  slim 
figure  sliding  into  it  and  taking  its  place 
and  disappearing  down  the  street. 

Where  Achilles  went  on  these  excur 
sions,  or  what  he  did,  no  one  knew. 
Promptly  at  two  each  day  he  returned — 
always  dishevelled  and  alert,  but  wear 
ing  a  look  of  triumph  that  sat  strangely 
on  the  quiet  Greek  reserve.  It  could 
not  be  said  that  Achilles  strutted  as  he 
walked,  but  he  had  an  air  of  confidence, 
as  if  he  were  seeing  things — things  far 
ahead — that  were  coming  to  him  on  the 
long  road. 

The  boys  could  not  make  him  out .... 
and  their  loyalty  would  not  let  them 
question  him.  But  one  day  Yaxis, 
resting  on  the  parapet  that  overlooked 
the  lake,  his  cart  drawn  a  little  to  one 
side,  his  hat  off  and  his  face  taking  in 

the  breeze,  saw  a  strange  sight 

It  was  a  wide  roadway,  and  free  of  traf 
fic,  and  Yaxis  had  turned  his  head  and 


178  MR.  ACHILLES 

looked  up  and  down  its  length.  In  the 
distance  a  car  was  coming — it  was  not 
speeding.  It  seemed  coming  on  with  lit 
tle  foolish  movements — halting  jerks 
and  impatient  honks.  .  .  .  Yaxis's  eye 
rested  on  it  bewildered — then  it  broke 
to  a  smile.  Father  was  driving!  .  .  . 
The  chauffeur,  beside  him,  with  folded 
arms  and  set  face  had  washed  his  hands 
of  all  responsibility — and  the  face  of 

the  Greek  was  shining The  great 

machine  swerved  and  balked  and  ran  a 
little  way  and  stopped — Yaxis  laughed 
softly.  The  chauffeur  bent  over  with  a 
word,  and  the  thing  shot  off,  Achilles 
with  intent  back,  holding  fast  by  both 
hands,  his  face  set  and  shining  ahead. 
Up  and  down  the  roadway,  the  thing 
zigzagged — back  and  forth — spitting  a 
little  and  fizzing  behind.  .  .  .  Like  a 
great  beast  it  snarled  and  snorted  and 
stood  out  and  waited  the  lash — and 
came  to  terms,  gliding  at  last,  by  a 
touch  along  the  smooth  road — the  face 
of  Achilles  transfigured  in  a  dream.  .  .  . 
The  Acropolis  floated  behind  him  in  the 


IT  FLOATS  A  LITTLE          179 

haze.  .  .  .  The  wings  of  the  morning 
waited  his  coming  and  his  hands  gripped 

hard  on  the  wheel  of  the  world 

Yaxis  watched  the  car  as  it  flashed 
and  floated  in  the  sun  and  was 
gone — down  the  roadway — around  the 
distant  corner — out  of  sight,  with  its 
faint  triumphant  ' '  honk-honk-honk ! ' ' 
trailing  behind. 

With  a  deep  smile  on  his  face  Yaxis 
wheeled  his  cart  into  the  roadway  and 
pushed  briskly  toward  home,  his  mind 
filled  with  the  vision  of  his  father  and 
the  flying  car. 

The  next  day  coming  down  the  steps 
of  a  house  and  counting  slow  change, 
he  looked  up  with  a  swift  glance — some 
thing  had  passed  him;  for  a  moment  he 
had  only  a  glimpse — something  famil 
iar — a  kind  of  home  sense — then  the  fig 
ure  of  Achilles  flashed  out — the  car  shot 
round  a  corner.  He  sped  to  the  corner 
and  looked  down  the  long  road — no 
one — only  two  rows  of  poplars  with 
their  silvery,  stirring  leaves,  and  not  a 
soul  in  sight — and  respectable  houses  on 


180  ME.  ACHILLES 

either  side  watching,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  or  ever  would.  Yaxis  re 
turned  to  his  cart,  wiping  the  fine  mois 
ture  from  his  forehead.  Every  day 
now,  his  glance  travelled  about  him  as 
he  pushed  his  cart  along  the  quieter 
streets  where  his  route  lay.  And  often 
at  the  end  of  long  vistas,  or  down  a  side 
street,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  shoot 
ing  car  and  the  dark,  erect  figure  poised 
forward  on  its  seat,  looking  far  ahead. 

At  home,  in  the  dusky  interior,  Achil 
les  moved  with  sedate  step,  his  hair 
combed,  his  slim  hands  busy  with  the 
smooth  fruit.  .  .  .  Yaxis,  in  the  door 
way,  looked  at  him  with  curious,  wist 
ful  eyes. 

Achilles  glanced  up  and  nodded,  and 
the  little  smile  on  his  dark  face  grew. 
He  came  forward.  "You  had  good 
day?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  father.  .  .  ."  The  boy  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  and  dug  his  toes — 
and  flung  out  his  hands  in  quick  ges 
ture  ....  "I  see  you!"  he  said — "You 
go  in  massheen ! ' ' 


IT  FLOATS  A  LITTLE          181 

Achilles 's  glance  flashed  and  grew  to 
a  deep,  still  smile.  .  .  .  "You  see  that 
machine! — You  see  me  drive  him?  / 
make  that  machine  go ! "  His  chest  ex 
panded  and  he  moved  a  few  free  steps 
and  paused— 

The  boy's  eyes  rested  on  him  proudly. 
Around  them — out  in  the  grimy  street — 
the  world  hurried  and  scuffled  and 
honked;  and  in  the  little  back  shop  the 
father  and  the  boy  faced  each  other,  a 
strange,  new,  proud  joy  around  them — 
"I  drive  that  machine,"  said  Achilles 
softly. 


XXV 

AND    STARTS    OFF 

ACHILLES  came  to  the  door  of  the  shop 
and  looked  out.  A  car  had  drawn  up  to 
the  sidewalk — a  rough,  racing  machine 
with  open  sides  and  big  wheels — and  the 
driver,  a  big  man  in  a  white  cap  and 
rough  linen  suit,  was  beckoning  to  him 
with  his  hand.  Achilles  stepped  across 
the  walk,  and  stood  by  the  machine  with 
quiet,  waiting  face. 

The  man  looked  him  over,  a  little  as  if 
he  owned  him — "I  want  some  fruit,"  he 
said  quickly,  " — oranges — grapes — any 
thing — f"  His  glance  ran  to  the  fruit 
on  the  stall — "Get  me  something 
quick — and  don't  be  all  day — "  His 
hand  was  fumbling  for  change. 

"I  get  you  best  orange,"  said  Achil 
les.  He  snapped  open  a  paper  bag  and 
turned  to  the  heaped-up  fruit.  .  .  . 

188 


AND  STARTS  OFF  183 

Then  his  eye  paused — a  boy  was  break 
ing  through  the  crowd — hatless;  breath 
less — and  calling  him  with  swift  ges 
ture. 

Achilles  sprang  forward.  "What  is 
it,  Alcie?"  His  eye  was  searching  the 
crowd,  and  his  hand  dropped  to  the  boy's 
shoulder. 

"There  they  are!"  gasped  the  boy, 
"There!" 

Achilles 's  eye  gleamed — down  the 
street,  a  little  way  off,  a  car  was  wheel 
ing  out  from  the  curb — gathering  head. 

Achilles 's  eyes  flashed  on  it  ....  and 
swept  the  crowd — and  came  back  .... 

The  man  in  the  white  cap  by  the  curb 
was  swearing  softly.  He  leaped  with 
two  steps,  from  the  panting  car  to  the 
stall  and  began  gathering  up  oranges. 
"Here —  '  he  said.  Then  he  wheeled— 
and  saw  the  Greek  fruit-dealer  flashing 
off  in  a  car — his  car.  "Here — you!" 
he  shouted. 

But  Achilles  gave  no  heed — and 
the  boy,  urging  him  on  from  be 
hind,  turned  with  swift  smile — "He 


184  MR.  ACHILLES 

take  your  car — "  lie  said,  "he  need  that 
car!" 

But  the  white-capped  man  pounced 
upon  him,  and  shook  him  by  the  shoul 
der — watching  his  car  that  was  thread 
ing  fast  in  the  crowded  traffic He 

dropped  the  boy,  and  his  hand  reached 
up,  signalling  wildly  for  police — a  city 
service  car  sprang  from  the  ground,  it 
seemed.  The  white-capped  man  leaped 
in  and  they  were  off — honking  the 

crowd heavy  drays  moved  from 

before  them  with  slow,  eternal  wheel— 
the  white  cap  swore  softly  and  leaned 

forward  and  urged and  the  dark, 

Greek  head  bobbed  far  ahead — along  in 
the  crowd — the  big,  grey  racer  gather 
ing  speed  beneath.  .  .  .  Achilles  was  not 
thinking  of  the  pursuit,  yelling  behind 
him — he  had  no  thoughts — only  two  eyes 
that  held  a  car  far  in  the  distance,  and 
two  hands  that  gripped  the  wheel  and 
drove  hard,  and  prayed  grimly.  ...  If 
his  eye  lost  that  car.  .  .  .  !  It  was 
turning  now  —  far  ahead  ....  and 
his  eye  marked  the  place  and  held 


AND  STARTS  OFF  185 

it — fixed His     car     jolted     and 

bumped  .  .  .  Men  swore  and  made  way 
before  Mm,  and  noted  the  hatless  head, 
and  looked  behind — and  saw  the  police 
car — and  yelled  aloud.  But  no  one  saw 
him  in  time,  and  he  was  not  stopped.  He 
had  reached  the  corner  where  the  car 
disappeared  from  sight,  and  he  leaned 
forward,  with  careful  turn,  peering 
around  the  corner.  .  .  .  ?  They  were 
there — yes.  .  .  .  He  drove  faster — and 
the  great,  ugly  car  lifted  itself  and  flung 
forward  and  settled  to  long  sliding 

gait The    car    ahead    turned 

again  in  the  whirling  traffic — and  turned 
again  ....  But  Achilles 's  eye  did  not 

lose  its  track and  they  were  out 

in  the  open  at  last — the  plain  stretching 
before  them — no  turn  to  left  or  right— 
and  the  machine  Achilles  drove  had  no 
equal  in  the  country.  .  .  .  But  Achilles 
did  not  know  his  machine.  .  .  .  Good  or 
bad,  it  must  serve  him  and  keep  his  men 
in  sight — but  not  too  near — not  to 

frighten  them! They  had  turned 

now  and  were  glancing  back  and  they 


186  MR.  ACHILLES 

spoke  quickly —  Then  they  looked  again 
— at  the  flying  hair  and  hatless  head — 
and  saw  suddenly,  on  behind  it,  the  serv 
ice  car  leap  softly  around  the  corner 
into  the  white  road.  .  .  .  They  looked 
again — and  laughed.  They  turned  and 
dropped  the  matter —  "Some  damn 
fool  with  a  stolen  car." 


XXVI 

AND    EACES    FOR    THE    CLUE 

UNDER  the  great  bowl  of  sky,  in  the 
midst  of  the  plain,  the  three  cars  held 
their  level  way — three  little  racing  dots 
in  the  big,  clear  place.  .  .  .  They  kept 
an  even  course,  swaying  to  the  race  on 
level  wings  that  swept  the  ground  and 
rose  to  the  low  swale  and  passed  be 
yond.  Only  the  long  free  line  of  dust 
marked  their  flight  under  the  sun. 

The  men  at  the  front,  in  the  car  ahead, 
did  not  look  back  again.  .  .  .  They  had 
lost  interest  in  the  race  pressing  be 
hind — most  anxiously,  they  had  lost  in 
terest  in  it.  They  wished,  with  a  fer 
vent  wish,  that  the  two  cars  driving  be 
hind  them  should  pass  them  in  a  swirl 
of  dust — and  pass  on  out  of  sight — to 
ward  the  far  horizon  line  that  stretched 
the  west.  They  were  only  two  market 
gardeners  returning  from  business  in 

187 


188  ME.  ACHILLES 

the  city.  If  they  drove  a  good  car,  it 
was  to  save  time  going  and  coming — not 
to  race  with  escaping  fugitives  and  ex 
cited  police They  had  no  wish  to 

race  with  the  excited  police — fervently 
they  had  no  wish  for  it — and  they  slack 
ened  speed  a  little,  drawing  freer 
breath  ....  Let  the  fellow  pass  them— 
and  his  police  with  him — before  they 
reached  a  little,  white,  peaceful  house 
that  stood  ahead  on  the  plain.  .  .  .  They 
did  not  look  behind  at  justice  pursuing 

its  prey they  had  lost  all  interest 

in  justice  and  in  the  race.  Presently, 
when  justice  should  pass  them,  on  full- 
spreading  wing,  they  would  look  up  with 
casual  glance,  and  note  its  flight  over  the 
far  line — out  of  sight  in  the  distant 

west But  now  they  did  not  know 

of  its  existence. 

And  Achilles,  pressing  fast,  had  a 
quick,  clear  sense  of  mystery — some 
thing  that  brooded  ahead — on  the  shin 
ing  plain  and  the  little,  white  house  and 
the  car  before  him  slackening  speed  .  .  . 
Why  should  it  slow  down? — what 


AND  RACES  FOR  THE  CLUE     189 

was  up?  .  .  .  Cautiously  he  held  his  car, 
slowing  its  waving  gleam  to  the  pace 
ahead  and  darting  a  swift  glance  be 
hind,  over  his  shoulder;  at  the  great 
service  car  that  leaped  and  gained  on 
him  lap  by  lap.  It  would  overtake  him 
soon — and  he  must  not  pass  the  car 
ahead — not  till  he  saw  what  they  were 
up  to.  ...  Would  they  pass  that  little 
white  house — on  the  plain — or  would 
they  turn  in  there — ?  The  wind 
hummed  in  his  ears — his  hair  flew — and 
his  hand  held  tense  to  the  wheel — slow 
ing  it  cautiously,  inch  by  inch — slack 
ening  a  little — slackening  again  with 
quick-flung,  flashing  glance  behind — and 

a  watchful  eye  on  the  car  ahead 

and  on  the  little  white  house  drawing 
near  on  the  plain.  It  was  a  race 
now  between  his  quick  mind  and  that 
car  ahead  and  the  little  white  house  .... 
He  must  not  overtake  them  till  the 
little  house  was  reached.  .  .  The  car 
behind  must  not  touch  him — not  till  the 
house  came  up.  There  was  a  wood 
ahead,  in  the  distance — his  mind  flew  and 


190  MR.  ACHILLES 

circled  the  wood — and  came  back  .... 
They  had  reached  the  little  house 
asleep  in  the  sun.  They  were  passing 
it,  neck  and  neck,  and  the  car  beside  him 
swerved  a  little  and  slackened  speed — 
and  dived  in  at  the  white  gate.  Achil 
les  shot  past' — the  great  racing  car  be 
neath  him — the  free  road  ahead.  The 
machine  under  him  gathered  speed  and 
opened  out  and  laughed  and  leaped  to 
the  road  and  lay  down  in  the  thick 
dust,  spreading  itself  ahead.  .  .  .  He 
could  gain  the  wood.  .  .  .  He  should 
escape — and  the  clue  was  fast.  .  .  . 

Behind  him,  the  service  car  thundered 
by  the  little  house  asleep.  But  the  po 
lice  did  not  glance  that  way — nor  did 
the  big,  white-capped  man  glance  that 
way.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  racer 
ahead — dwindling  to  a  speck  in  its  cloud 
of  dust.  .  .  .  He  pushed  up  his  visor 
and  laughed  aloud.  .  .  .  "Give  it  up!" 
he  said  genially,  "give  it  up ! — you  can't 
catch  that  car! — I  know  my  own  car,  I 
guess ! ' '  He  laughed  again.  *  *  We  shall 


AND  RACES  FOR  THE  CLUE     191 

find  it  somewhere  along  the  road — when 
he  is  through  with  it!" 

But  the  face  beside  him,  turning  in 
the  clouding  dust,  had  a  keen  look  and 
the  car  kept  its  unbroken  speed,  and  the 
plain  flashed  by,  "He's  in  too  big  a 
hurry — "  said  the  driver  sternly.  .  .  . 
"I  want  a  look  at  that  man!  He  knows 
too  much!" 

Too  much!  The  heart  of  Achilles 
sang  again — all  the  heart  of  him  woke 
up  and  laughed  to  the  miles.  .  .  .  He 
had  found  his  clue — he  had  passed  the 
little  hundred-thousand-dollar  house, 
and  the  police  in  their  big,  bungling  dust 
had  passed  it,  too.  Nobody  knew — but 
him.  .  .  .  and  he  should  escape — over 
the  long  road.  .  .  .  with  the  big  ma 
chine,  under  him,  pounding  away. 


XXVII 

THE   LITTLE    WHITE    HOUSE 

IN  an  angle  of  the  wood  the  dust-cov 
ered  policeman  and  the  white-capped 
man  came  upon  the  racer,  turned  a  lit 
tle  from  the  road,  and  waiting  their  ar 
rival.  It  had  a  stolid,  helpless  look — 
with  its  nose  buried  deep  in  underbrush 
and  the  hind  wheels  tilted  a  little  in  air. 
One  might  almost  fancy  it  gave  a  lit 
tle,  subdued  hiccough,  as  they  ap 
proached. 

The  white-capped  man  bent  above  it 
and  ran  a  quick  hand  along  the  side,  and 
leaped  to  the  vacant  seat.  The  beast 
beneath  gave  a  little  snort  and  with 
drew  its  nose  and  pranced  playfully  at 
the  underbrush  and  backed  away,  feel 
ing  for  firm  ground  behind.  The  man 
at  the  wheel  pressed  hard,  leaning — 
with  quick  jerk — and  wheels  gripped 
ground  and  trundled  in  the  road.  It 

192 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  HOUSE     193 

stopped  beside  the  service  car  and  the 
two  men  gazed  doubtfully  at  the  wood. 
Dusty  leaves  trembled  at  them  in  the 
light  air,  and  beckoned  to  them — little 
twigs  laced  across  and  shut  them 
out Anywhere  in  the  dark  cool 
ness  of  the  wood,  the  Greek  lurked,  hid 
ing  away.  They  could  not  trace  him— 
and  the  wood  reached  far  into  the  dusk. 
He  was  undoubtedly  armed.  Only  a 
desperate  man  would  have  made  a  dash 
like  that — for  life.  Better  go  back  to 
town  for  reinforcements  and  send  the 
word  of  his  escape  along  the  line.  He 
would  not  get  far — on  foot !  They  gave 
another  glance  at  the  wood  and  loosed 
their  cars  to  the  road,  gliding  smoothly 
off.  The  wood  behind  them,  under  its 
cover  of  dust,  gave  no  sign  of  watching 
eyes ;  and  the  sun,  travelling  toward  the 
west,  cast  their  long,  clean  shadows 
ahead  as  they  went.  In  the  low  light, 
the  little,  white  house  in  the  distance 
had  a  rosy,  moody  look.  As  they  drew 
nearer,  little  pink  details  flashed  out. 
An  old  man  behind  the  picket  fence 


194  MR.  ACHILLES 

looked  up,  and  straightened  himself,  and 
gazed — under  a  shading  hand.  Then  he 
came  along  the  driveway  and  stood  in 
the  white  gate,  waiting  their  approach. 
He  had  a  red,  guileless  face  and  white 
hair.  The  face  held  a  look  of  childish 
interest  as  they  drew  up.  "You  got 
him?"  he  asked. 

The  service  man  shook  his  head,  jerk 
ing  his  thumb  at  the  racer  that  came 
behind — "Got  the  car,"  he  said.  "He 
got  off — took  to  the  woods." 

"That  so!"  The  old  man  came  out 
to  the  road  and  looked  with  curious  eyes 
at  the  big  racing-machine  coming  up. 
"What'd  he  do?"  he  asked. 

"He  stole  my  machine,"  said  the 
white-capped  man  quickly.  He  was 
holding  the  wheel  with  a  careful 
touch. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with 
shrewd,  smiling  eyes — chewing  at  some 
invisible  cud.  The  service  man  nodded 
to  him,  "There'll  be  a  reward  out  for 
him,  Jimmie — keep  a  watch  out.  You 
may  have  a  chance  at  it.  He's  hiding 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  HOUSE     195 

somewhere  over  there."  He  motioned 
toward  the  distant  wood. 

The  old  man  turned  a  slow  eye  toward 
the  west.  "I  don't  own  no  telescope," 
he  said  quaintly.  He  shifted  the  cud  a 
little,  and  gazed  at  the  plain  around 
them — far  as  the  eye  could  see,  it 
stretched  on  every  side.  Only  the  little, 
white  house  stood  comfortably  in  its 
midst — open  to  the  eye  of  heaven.  It 
was  a  rambling,  one  story  and  a  half 
house,  with  no  windows  above  the 
ground  floor — except  at  the  rear,  where 
one  window,  under  a  small  peak,  faced 
the  north.  Beyond  the  house,  in  that 
direction,  lay  lines  of  market  garden— 
and  beyond  the  garden  the  wide 

plain Two  men,  at  work  in  the 

garden,  hoed  with  long,  easy  strokes 
that  lengthened  in  the  slanting  light. 
The  service  man  looked  at  them  with 
casual  eye — "Got  good  help  this  year?" 
he  asked. 

The  old  man  faced  about,  and  his  eye 
regarded  them  mildly.  .  .  .  "Putty 
good,"  he  said,  "they're  my  sister's 


196  MR.  ACHILLES 

boys.  .  .  .  She  died  this  last  year — 
along  in  April — and  they  come  on  to 
help.  Yes,  they  work  putty  good." 

"They  drove  in  ahead  of  us,  didn't 
they?"  asked  the  service  man,  with  sud 
den  thought. 

The  old  man  smiled  drily.  .  .  . 
"Didn't  know's  you  see  'em.  You  was 
so  occupied.  .  .  .  Yes — they'd  been  in 
to  sell  the  early  potatoes.  I've  got  a 
putty  good  crop  this  year — early  po 
tatoes.  They  went  in  to  make  a  price 
on  'em.  We'll  get  seventy-five  if  we 
take  'em  in  to-morrow — and  they  asked 
what  to  do — and  I  told  'em  they  better 
dig."  He  chuckled  slowly. 

The  service  man  smiled.  "You  keep 
'em  moving,  don't  you,  Jimmie!"  He 
glanced  at  the  house.  "Any  trade — f 
Got  a  license  this  year?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head — "Bone 
dry,"  he  said,  chewing  slowly.  "Them 
cars  knocked  me  out!"  He  came  and 
stood  by  the  racer,  running  his  hand 
along  it  with  childish  touch. 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  HOUSE     197 

The  service  man  watched  him  with  de 
tached  smile.  The  old  man's  silly 
shrewdness  amused  him.  He  suspected 
him  of  a  cask  or  two  in  the  cellar.  In 
the  days  of  bicycles  the  old  man  had 
driven  a  lively  trade;  but  with  the  long- 
reaching  cars,  his  business  dribbled 
away,  and  he  had  slipped  back  from 
whiskey  to  potatoes.  He  was  a  little 
disgruntled  at  events,  and  would  talk 
socialism  by  the  hour  to  anyone  who 
would  listen.  But  he  was  a  harmless 
old  soul.  The  service  man  glanced  at 
the  sun.  It  had  dipped  suddenly,  and 
the  plain  grew  dusky  black.  The  dis 
tant  figures  hoeing  against  the  plain 
were  lost  to  sight.  "Hallo!"  said  the 
service  man  quickly,  "we  must  get 
on — "  Pie  looked  again,  shrewdly, 
toward  the  old  man  in  the  dusk— 
"You  couldn't  find  a  drop  of  anything, 
handy — to  give  away — Jimmie?"  he 
suggested. 

The  old  man  tottered  a  slow  smile  at 
him  and  moved  toward  the  house.  He 


198  MR.  ACHILLES 

came  back  with  a  long-necked  bottle 
grasped  tight,  and  a  couple  of  glasses 
that  he  filled  in  the  dimness. 

The  service  man  held  up  his  glass 
with  quick  gesture — "Here's  to  you, 
Jimmie!"  he  said,  throwing  back  his 
head.  "May  you  live  long,  and  pros 
per!"  He  gulped  it  down. 

The  old  man's  toothless  "smile  received 
the  empty  glasses;  and  when  the  two 
machines  had  trundled  away  in  the  dim 
ness,  it  stood  looking  after  them — the 
deep  smile  of  guileless,  crafty  old  age- 
that  suffers  and  waits — and  clutches  its 
morsel  at  last  and  fastens  on  it — with 
out  joy,  and  without  shame. 


XXVIII 

INSIDE    THE    LITTLE    HOUSE 

THE  two  figures  amid  the  rows  of  the 
market  garden  paused,  in  the  enveloping 
dusk,  and  leaned  on  their  hoes,  and  lis 
tened — a  low,  peevish  whistle,  like  the 
call  of  a  night-jar,  on  the  plain,  came  to 
them.  Presently  the  call  repeated  it 
self — three  wavering  notes — and  they 
shouldered  their  hoes  and  moved  toward 
the  little  house. 

The  old  man  emerged  from  the  gloom, 
coming  toward  them.  .  .  .  "What  was 
it!"  asked  one  of  the  figures  quickly. 

The  old  man  chuckled.  "Stole  a 
racer — that's  about  all  tliey  knew — you 
got  off  easy!"  He  was  peering  toward 
them. 

The  larger  of  the  two  figures  straight 
ened  itself.  "I  am  sick  of  it — I  tell 
you! — my  back's  broke!"  He  moved 
himself  in  the  dusk,  stretching  out  his 

199 


200  MR.  ACHILLES 

great    arms    and    looking    about    him 
vaguely. 

The  old  man  eyed  him  shrewdly. 
"You're  earning  a  good  pile,"  he  said. 

"Yes — one-seventy-five  a  day!"  The 
man  laughed  a  little. 

The  other  man  had  not  spoken.  He 
slipped  forward  through  the  dusk— 
"Supper  ready?"  he  asked. 

They  followed  him  into  the  house, 
stopping  in  an  entry  to  wash  their  hands 
and  remove  their  heavy  shoes.  Through 
the  door  opening  to  a  room  beyond,  a 
woman  could  be  seen,  moving  briskly, 
and  the  smell  of  cooking  floated  out. 
They  sniffed  at  it  hungrily. 

The  woman  came  to  the  door — 
"Hurry  up,  boys — everything's  done  to 
death!" 

They  came  in  hastily,  with  half-dried 
hands,  and  she  looked  at  them — a  laugh 
in  her  round,  keen  face.  "You  have 
had  a  day!"  she  said.  She  was  tall  and 
angular,  and  her  face  had  a  sudden 
roundness — a  kind  of  motherly,  Dutch 


INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    201 

doll,  set  on  its  high,  lean  frame.  Her 
body  moved  in  soft  jerks. 

She  heaped  up  the  plates  with  quick 
hands,  and  watched  the  men  while  they 
ate.  For  a  time  no  one  spoke.  The  old 
man  went  to  the  cellar  and  brought  up 
a  great  mug  of  beer,  and  they  filled  their 
pipes  and  sat  smoking  and  sipping  the 
beer  stolidly.  The  windows  were 
open  to  the  air  and  the  shades  were 
up.  Any  one  passing  on  the  long  road, 
over  the  plain,  might  look  in  on  them. 
The  woman  toasted  a  piece  of  bread 
and  moistened  it  with  a  little  milk  and 
put  it,  with  a  glass  of  milk,  on  a  small 
tray.  The  men's  eyes  followed  her,  in 
different.  They  watched  her  lift  the 
tray  and  carry  it  to  a  door  at  the  back 
of  the  room,  and  disappear. 

They  smoked  on  in  silence. 

The  old  man  reached  out  for  his  glass. 
He  lifted  it.  "Two  weeks — and  three 
more  days,"  he  said.  He  sipped  the 
beer  slowly. 

The  larger  of  the  two  men  nodded. 


202  MR.  ACHILLES 

He  had  dark,  regular  features  and  red 
dish  hair.  He  looked  heavy  and  tired. 
He  opened  his  lips  vaguely. 

"Don't  talk  here!"  said  the  younger 
man  sharply — and  he  gave  a  quick 
glance  at  the  room — as  a  weasel  returns 
to  cover,  in  a  narrow  place. 

The  big  man  smiled.  "  I  wa  'n  't  going 
to  say  anything." 

"Better  not!"  said  the  other.  He 
cleared  his  pipe  with  his  little  finger. 
"/  don't  even  think,"  he  added  softly. 

The  woman  had  come  back  with  the 
tray  and  the  men  looked  up,  smoking. 

She  set  the  tray  down,  by  the  sink  and 
came  over  to  them,  standing  with  both 
hands  on  her  high  hips.  She  regarded 
them  gravely  and  glanced  at  the  tray. 
The  milk  and  toast  were  untouched. 

The  old  man  removed  his  pipe  and 
looked  at  her  plaintively — "Can't  ye 
make  her,  Lena?"  he  said.  His  high 
voice  had  a  shrill  note. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  do  any 
thing — not  anything  more." 

She  moved  away  and  began  to  gather 


INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    203 

up  the  dishes  from  the  table,  clearing  it 
with  swift  jerks.  She  paused  a  mo 
ment  and  leaned  over — the  platter  in 
her  hand  half-lifted  from  its  place — 
''She  needs  the  air,"  she  said,  "and  to 
run  about — she's  sick — shut  up  like 
that!"  She  lifted  the  platter  and  car 
ried  it  to  the  sink,  a  troubled  look  in 
her  eyes — "I  won't  be  responsible  for 
her — not  much  longer,"  she  said  slowly, 
as  she  set  it  down,  " — not  if  she  doesn't 
get  down  in  the  air." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  in  si 
lence.  The  old  man  got  up — "Time  to 
go  to  bed — "  he  said  slowly. 

They  filed  out  of  the  room.  The 
woman's  eyes  followed  them.  Pres 
ently  the  door  opened  and  the  younger 
man  returned,  with  soft,  quick  steps. 
He  looked  at  her — "I  want  to  talk,"  he 
said. 

"In  a  minute,"  she  replied.  She  nod 
ded  toward  the  cellar — "The  lantern's 
down  there — you  go  along." 

He  opened  the  door  and  stepped  cau 
tiously  into  blackness,  and  she  heard  a 


204  MR.  ACHIKLES 

quick,  scratching  match  on  the  plaster 
behind  the  closed  door,  and  his  feet  de 
scending  the  stairs. 

She  drew  forward  the  kettle  on  the 
stove  and  replenished  the  fire,  and  blew 
out  the  hand  lamp  on  the  table.  Then 
she  groped  her  way  to  the  cellar  door, 
opening  it  with  noiseless  touch.  .  .  . 

The  young  man  waited  below,  impa 
tient.  On-  a  huge  barrel  near  by,  the 
lantern  cast  a  yellow  circle  on  the  black 
ness. 

The  woman  approached  it,  her  high- 
stepping  figure  flung  in  shadowy  move 
ment  along  the  wall  behind  her. 

"You  can't  back  out  now!"  He 
spoke  quickly.  "You're  weakening! 
And  you've  got  to  brace  up — do  you 
hear ! ' ' 

The  woman's  round  face  smiled — 
over  the  light  on  the  barrel — "I'm  all 
right,"  she  said.  She  hesitated  a  min 
ute.  .  .  .  "It's  the  child  that's  not  all 
right,"  she  added  slowly.  "And  to 
night  I  got  scared — yes — "  She  waited 
a  breath. 


INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    205 

11  What's  the  matter?"  he  said 
roughly. 

She  waited  again.  "She  wasn't  like 
flesh  and  blood  to-night,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  felt  as  if  a  breath  would 
blow  her  out—  She  drew  her  hand 
quickly  across  her  eyes.  "I've  got  fond 
of  the  little  thing,  John — I  can't  seem 
to  have  her  hurt!" 

"Who's  hurting  her?"  said  the  man 
sharply.  "You  take  care  of  her — and 
she's  all  right." 

"I  can't,  John.  She  needs  the  out 
doors.  She's  like  a  little  bird  up 
there — shut  up ! " 

"Then  let  her  out —  '  said  the  man 
savagely.  "Let  her  out— up  there!" 
His  lifted  hand  pointed  to  the  plain 
about  them — in  open  scorn.  He  leaned 
forward  and  spoke  more  persuasively, 
close  to  her  ear — "We  can't  back  out 
now — "  he  said,  "the  child  knows  too 
much!"  He  gave  the  barrel  beside 
them  a  significant  tap — "We  couldn't 
use  this  plant  again — six  years — dig 
ging  it — and  waiting  and  starving!" 


206  MR.  ACHILLES 

He  struck  the  barrel  sharply.  "I  tell 
you  weVe  got  to  put  it  through!  You 
keep  her  out  of  sight ! ' ' 

"Her  own  mother  wouldn't  know 
her—  '  said  the  woman  slowly. 

He  met  the  look — and  waited. 

"I  tell  you,  I've  done  everything,"  she 
said  with  quick  passion.  "I've  fed  her 
and  amused  her  and  told  her  stories — 
I  don 't  dare  keep  her  any  longer ! ' '  She 
touched  the  barrel  beside  them — "I  tell 
you,  you  might  as  well  put  her  under 
that.  .  .  .  You'll  put  her  under  for 
good — if  you  don't  look  out!"  she  said 
significantly. 

"All  right,"  said  the  man  sullenly, 
"what  do  you  want?" 

She  was  smiling  again — the  round, 
keen  smile,  on  its  high  frame.  "Let 
her  breathe  a  bit — like  a  child — and  run 
out  in  the  sun.  The  sun  will  cure  her ! ' * 
she  added  quickly. 

"All  right — if  you  take  the  risk — 
a  hundred-thousand-dollars — and  your 
own  daughter  thrown  to  the  devil — if 
we  lose — !  .  .  You  know  that!" 


INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    207 

"I  know,  John — I  want  the  money — 
more  than  you  want  it ! "  She  spoke  with 
quick,  fierce  loyalty.  "I'd  give  my  life 
for  Mollie — or  to  keep  her  straight — • 
but  I  can't  kill  a  child  to  keep  her 
straight — not  this  child — to  keep  her 
straight!"  Her  queer,  round  face 
worked,  against  the  yellow  light. 

He  looked  at  it,  half  contemptuously, 
and  turned  to  the  barrel. 

"See  if  everything's  all  right,"  he 
said.  "If  we're  going  to  take  risks — 
we've  got  to  be  ready." 

The  woman  lifted  the  lantern,  and  he 
pushed  against  the  barrel.  It  yielded 
to  his  weight — the  upper  part  turning 
slowly  on  a  pivot.  Something  inside 
swashed  against  the  sides  as  it  turned. 
The  man  bent  over  the  hole  and  peered 
in.  He  stepped  down  cautiously,  feel 
ing  with  his  foot  and  disappearing, 
inch  by  inch,  into  the  opening.  The 
woman  held  the  light  above  him,  look 
ing  down  with  quick,  tense  eyes 

a  hand  reached  up  to  her,  out  of  the  hole, 
beckoning  for  the  lantern  and  she  knelt 


208  MR.  ACHILLES 

down,  guiding  it  toward  the  waving  nn- 
gers.  ...  A  sound  of  something  creak 
ing — a  hinge  half  turned — caught  her 
breath — and  she  leaned  forward,  blow 
ing  at  the  lantern.  She  got  quickly  to 
her  feet  and  groped  for  the  swinging 
barrel,  turning  it  swiftly  over  the 
hole — the  liquid  chugged  softly  against 

its  side — and  stopped Her  breath 

listened  up  into  the  darkness.  .  .  .  The 
door  above  creaked  again  softly — and 
a  shuffling  foot  groped  at  the  stair  .  .  . 
' '  You  down  there — Lena  f ' '  called  an  old 
voice. 

She  laughed  out  softly,  moving  to 
ward  the  stair — "Go  to  bed,  father." 

"What  you  doing  down  there?"  asked 
the  old  voice  in  the  darkness. 

* '  Testing  the  barrel, ' '  said  the  woman. 
" John's  gone  down."  She  came  to  the 
foot  of  the  stair,  "You  go  to  bed, 
father—" 

"You  better  come  to  bed — all  of  ye," 
grumbled  the  old  man. 

"We're  coming — in  a  minute."     She 


INSIDE  THE  LITTLE  HOUSE    209 

heard  his  hand  fumble  at  the  door — and 
it  creaked  again — softly — and  closed. 

She  groped  her  way  back  to  the  bar 
rel,  waiting  beside  it  in  the  darkness. 


XXIX 

UPSTAIRS 

WHEN  the  man's  head  reappeared,  he 
came  up  briskly. 

"All  right?"  she  asked. 

"All  right,"  he  responded. 

"Did  you  test  the  other  end?" 

"Right  through—  said  the  man. 
"Safe  as  a  church!  The  water  barrel 
in  the  garden  stuck  a  little — but  I  eased 
it  up—  He  looked  back  into  the  hole, 
as  he  stepped  out,  "Too  bad  we  had  to 
take  her  down,"  he  said  regretfully— 

"The  police  might  'a'  stopped,"  said 
the  woman.  "You  couldn't  tell." 

They  swung  the  barrel  in  place,  and 
blew  out  the  lantern,  and  the  man  as 
cended  the  stair.  After  a  few  minutes 
the  woman  came  up.  The  kitchen  was 
empty.  The  fire  burning  briskly  cast  a 
line  of  light  beneath  the  hearth,  and  on 
the  top  of  the  stove  the  kettle  hummed 
210 


UPSTAIRS  211 

quietly.  She  lighted  a  lamp  and  lifted 
the  kettle,  filling  her  dishpan  with  soft 

steam Any  one  peering  in  at  the 

open  window  would  have  seen  only  a 
tall  woman,  with  high  shoulders,  bend 
ing  above  her  cloud  of  steam  and  wash 
ing  dishes,  with  a  quiet,  round  face  ab 
sorbed  in  thought. 

When  she  had  finished  at  the  sink  and 
tidied  the  room,  she  took  the  lamp  and 
went  into  the  small  hall  at  the  rear,  and 
mounted  the  steep  stairs.  At  the  top 
she  paused  and  fitted  a  key  and  entered 
a  low  room.  She  put  down  the  lamp 
and  crossed  to  the  door  on  the  other 
side — and  listened.  The  sound  of  low 
breathing  came  lightly  to  her,  and  her 
face  relaxed.  She  came  back  to  the  bu 
reau,  looking  down  thoughtfully  at  the 
coarse  towel  that  covered  it,  and  the 
brush  and  comb  and  tray  of  matches. 
There  was  nothing  else  on  the  bureau. 
But  on  a  little  bracket  at  the  side  the 
picture  of  a  young  girl,  with  loose,  full 
lips  and  bright  eyes,  looked  out  from  a 
great  halo  of  pompadour — with  the  half- 


212  ME.  ACHILLES 

wistful  look  of  youth.  The  mother's 
eyes  returned  to  the  picture  and  her 
keen  face  softened.  .  .  .  She  must  save 
Mollie — and  the  child  in  the  next  room- 
she  must  save  them  both.  .  .  .  She  lis 
tened  to  the  child  again,  breathing  be 
yond  the  open  door.  She  looked  again 
at  the  picture,  with  hungry  eyes.  .  .  . 
Her  own  child — her  Mollie — had  never 
had  a  chance — she  had  loved  gay 
things — and  there  was  no  money — al 
ways  hard  work  and  wet  feet  and  rough, 
pushing  cars.  .  .  .  No  wonder  she  had 
gone  wrong!  But  she  would  come  back 
now  ....  There  would  be  money 
enough — and  they  would  go  away — to 
gether  ....  Twenty-five  thousand  dol 
lars.  .  .  She  looked  long  at  the  pitiful, 
weak,  pictured  face  and  blew  out  the 
light  and  crept  into  bed.  .  .  .  And  in  the 
next  room  the  child's  even  breathing 
came  and  went.  .  .  .  and,  at  intervals, 
across  it  in  the  darkness,  another 
sound — the  woman's  quick,  indrawn 
breath  that  could  not  rest. 


ASLEEP 

IN  the  morning  the  woman  was  up 
with  the  first  light.  And  as  the  men 
came  grumbling  in  to  breakfast,  the 
round  face  wore  its  placid  smile.  They 
joked  her  and  ate  hastily  and  departed 
for  the  open  field.  ...  It  was  part  of  a 
steady  policy — to  be  always  in  the 
open — busy,  hard-working  men  who 
could  not  afford  to  lose  an  hour.  The 
excursion  had  been  a  quick,  reckless  re 
volt — against  weeks  of  weeding  and 
planting  and  digging.  .  .  .  But  they  had 
had  their  lesson.  They  were  not  likely 
to  stir  from  their  strip  of  market  gar 
den  on  the  plain — not  till  the  time  was 
up.  ... 

As  the  woman  went  about  her  work, 
she  listened,  and  stopped  and  went  to 
the  door — for  some  sound  from  up 
stairs.  Presently  she  went  up  .... 

213 


214  MR.  ACHILLES 

and  opened  the  door  .  .  .  and  looked 
in. 

The  child  lay  with  one  hand  thrown 
above  her  head — a  drawn  look  in  the 
softly  arched  brow  and  half-parted 

lips The  woman  bent  over  her, 

listening — and  placed  her  hand  on  the 
small  wrist  and  counted — waiting. 
The  eyes  flashed  open — and  looked  at 
her  .  .  .  .  "I  thought  you  were  Nono," 
said  the  child.  A  wistful  look  filled  her 
face  and  her  lip  quivered  a  little — out 
of  it — and  steadied  itself.  .  .  .  "You 
are  Mrs.  Seabury,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman  cheerfully — 
"Time  to  get  up,  dearie."  She  turned 
away  and  busied  herself  with  the  clothes 
hanging  from  their  hooks. 

The  child's  eyes  followed  her — 
dully  ....  "I  don't  think  I  care  to  get 
up,"  she  said  at  last. 

The  woman  brought  the  clothes  and 
placed  them  by  the  bed,  and  smiled  down 
at  her.  "There's  something  nice  to 
day,"  she  said  casually.  "We're  going 
out-doors  to-day — " 


ASLEEP  215 

"Can  I?"  said  the  child.  She  flashed 
a  smile  and  sat  up — "Can  I  go  out-of- 
doors?"  It  was  a  little  cry  of  waiting— 
and  the  woman's  hand  dashed  across 
her  eyes — at  the  keenness  of  it.  Then 
she  smiled — the  round,  assuring  smile, 
and  held  up  the  clothes.  .  .  .  "You 
hurry  up  and  dress  and  eat  your  break 
fast,"  she  said,  " — a  good,  big  break 
fast — and  we  are  going — out  in  the 
sun — you  and  me."  She  nodded  cheer 
fully  and  went  out. 

The  child  put  one  foot  over  the  edge 
of  the  bed  and  looked  down  at  it — a  lit 
tle  wistfully — and  placed  the  other  be 
side  it.  ...  They  were  very  dark,  little 
feet — a  queer,  brown  colour — and  the 
legs  above  them,  were  the  same  curious 
brown — and  the  small  straight  back- 
as  she  stepped  from  the  bed  and  slipped 
off  her  nightgown  and  bent  above  the 
clothes  on  the  chair.  .  .  .  The  colour  ran 
up  to  her  throat — around  it,  and  over 
the  whole  sunny  face  and  hands  and 
arms — a  strange,  eclipsing,  brown  dis 
guise There  had  been  a  quick, 


216  MR.  ACHILLES 

sharp  plan  to  take  her  abroad  and  they 
prepared  her  hastily  against  risks  on 
board  the  steamer.  The  plan  had  been 
abandoned  as  too  dangerous.  But  the 
colour  clung  to  the  soft  skin;  and  the 
hair,  cropped  close  to  the  neck,  had  a 

stubby,     uncouth     look No     one 

seeking  Betty  Harris,  would  have  looked 
twice  at  the  queer,  little,  brownie-like 
creature,  dressing  itself  with  careful 
haste.  It  lifted  a  plaid  dress  from  the 
chair — large  squares  of  red  and  green 
plaid — and  looked  at  it  with  raised 
brows  and  dropped  it  over  the  cropped 
head.  The  skirt  came  to  the  top  of  the 
rough  shoes  on  the  small  feet.  Betty 
Harris  looked  down  at  the  skirt — and 
smoothed  it  a  little  ....  and  dropped 
on  her  knees  beside  the  bed — the  red  and 
green  plaids  sweeping  around  her — and 
said  the  little  prayer  that  Miss  Stone 
had  taught  her  to  say  at  home. 


XXXI 

A   BUTTERFLY   FLIGHT 

SHE  came  down  the  stairs  with  slow  feet, 
pausing  a  little  on  each  stair,  as  if  to 
taste  the  pleasure  that  was  coming  to 
her.  .  .  .  She  was  going  out-of-doors — 
under  the  sky! 

She  pushed  open  the  door  at  the  foot 
and  looked  into  the  small  hall — she  had 
been  here  before.  They  had  hurried 
her  through — into  the  kitchen,  and  down 
to  the  cellar.  They  had  stayed  there  a 
long  time — hours  and  hours — and  Mrs. 
Seabury  had  held  her  on  her  lap  and 
told  her  stories.  .  .  . 

She  stepped  down  the  last  step  into 
the  hall.  The  outside  door  at  the  end 
was  open  and  through  it  she  could  see 
the  men  at  work  in  the  garden — and  the 
warm,  shimmering  air.  She  looked,  with 
eager  lip,  and  took  a  step  forward — and 
remembered — and  turned  toward  the 

217 


218  MR.  ACHILLES 

kitchen.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Seabury  had  said  she 
must  have  breakfast  first — a  good,  big 

breakfast — and  then She  opened 

the  door  and  looked  in.  The  woman 
was  standing  by  the  stove.  She  looked 
up  with  a  swift  glance  and  nodded  to 
her — "That's  right,  dearie.  Your 
breakfast  is  all  ready — you  come  in  and 
eat  it."  She  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  ta 
ble  and  brought  a  glass  of  milk  and 
tucked  the  napkin  under  her  brown  chin, 
watching  her  with  keen,  motherly  eyes, 
while  she  ate. 

" That's  a  good  girl!"  she  said.  She 
took  the  empty  plate  and  carried  it  to 
the  sink.  "Now  you  wait  till  I've 
washed  these — and  then — !"  She  nod 
ded  toward  the  open  window. 

The  child  slipped  down  and  came  over 
to  her  and  stood  beside  her  while  she 
worked,  her  eyes  full  of  a  little,  wistful 
hope.  "I've  most  forgot  about  out-of- 
doors,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  you  remember  it  all  right.  It's 
just  the  same  it  always  was,"  said  the 
woman  practically.  "Now  I'll  stir  up 


A  BUTTERFLY  FLIGHT        219 

some  meal  and  we'll  go  feed  the  chicks. 
.  .  .  I've  got  ten  of  'em — little  ones." 
She  mixed  the  yellow  meal  and  stirred 
it  briskly,  and  took  down  her  sun-bonnet 
— and  looked  at  the  child  dubiously— 
''You  haven't  any  hat,"  she  said. 

The  child's  hand  lifted  to  the  rough, 
cropped  hair — "I  did  have  a  hat — with 
red  cherries  on  it,"  she  suggested. 

The  woman  turned  away  brusquely. 
"That's  gone — with  your  other  things— 
I'll  have  to  tie  a  handkerchief  on  you." 

She  brought  a  big,  coloured  kerchief 
— red  with  blue  spots  on  it — and  bound 
it  over  the  rough  hair — and  stood  back 
and  looked  at  it,  and  reached  out  her 
hand — "It  won't  do,"  she  said  thought 
fully.  The  small  face,  outlined  in  the 
smooth  folds,  had  looked  suddenly  and 
strangely  refined.  The  woman  took  off 
the  handkerchief  and  roughened  the  hair 
with  careful  hand. 

The  child  waited  patiently.  "I  don't 
need  a  hat,  do  I?"  she  said  politely. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  again  and 
took  up  the  dish  of  meal.  "You're  all 


220  ME.  ACHILLES 


right, "  she  said,  "we  shan't  stay  long." 

"I  should  Uke  to  stay  a  long,  long 
time!"  said  Betty. 

The  woman  smiled.  "You're  going 
out  every  day,  you  know." 

"Yes."  The  child  skipped  a  little  in 
the  clumsy  shoes,  and  they  passed  into 
the  sunshine. 

The  woman  looked  about  her  with 
practical  eyes.  ...  In  the  long  rows  of 
the  garden  the  men  were  at  work.  But 
up  and  down  the  dusty  road — across  the 
plain — no  one  was  in  sight,  and  she 
stepped  briskly  toward  an  open  shed, 
rapping  her  spoon  a  little  against  the 
side  of  the  basin  she  carried,  and  cluck 
ing  gently. 

The  child  beside  her  moved  slowly — 
looking  up  at  the  sky,  as  if  half  afraid. 
She  seemed  to  move  with  alien  feet  un 
der  the  sky.  .  .  .  Then  a  handful  of  yel 
low,  downy  balls  darted  from  the  shed, 
skittering  toward  them,  and  she  fell  to 
her  knees,  reaching  out  her  hands  to 
them  and  crooning  softly.  "The  dear 
things!"  she  said  swiftly. 


A  BUTTERFLY  FLIGHT        221 

The  woman  smiled,  and  moved  toward 
the  shed,  tapping  on  the  side  of  her 
pan — and  the  yellow  brood  wheeled  with 
the  sound,  on  twinkling  legs  and  swift, 
stubby  wings. 

The  child's  eyes  devoured  them. 
"They  belong  to  you,  don't  they!"  she 
cried  softly.  "They're  your  own — your 
very  own  chickens ! ' '  Her  laugh  crept 
over  them  and  her  eyes  glowed.  "See 
the  little  one,  Mrs.  Seabury!  Just  see 
him  run!"  She  had  dropped  to  her 
knees  again — breathless — beside  the 
board  where  they  pushed  and  perked 
and  gobbled  the  little,  wet  lumps  of  the 
meal,  and  darted  their  shiny  black  bills 
at  the  board. 

The  woman  handed  her  the  pan. 
"You  can  feed  them  if  you  want  to," 
she  said. 

The  child  took  the  basin,  with  shining 
eyes,  and  the  woman  moved  away.  She 
examined  the  slatted  box — where  the 
mother  hen  ran  to  and  fro,  with  cluck 
ing  wings— and  gave  her  some  fresh  wa 
ter  and  looked  in  the  row  of  nests  along 


222  MR.  ACHILLES 

the  side  of  the  shed,  and  took  out  a 
handful  of  eggs,  carrying  them  in  wide 
spread,  careful  fingers. 

The  child,  squatting  by  the  board,  was 
looking  about  her  with  happy  eyes. 
She'd  almost  forgotten  the  prisoned 
room  up  stairs  and  the  long  lonesome 
days.  The  woman  came  over  to  her, 
smiling.  ''I've  found  seven,"  she  said. 
The  child's  eyes  rested  on  them.  Then 
they  flitted  to  the  sunshine  outside.  .  .  . 
A  yellow  butterfly  was  fluttering  in  the 
light — across  the  opening  of  the  shed. 
It  lighted  on  a  beam  and  opened  slow 
wings,  and  the  child's  eyes  laughed 
softly  ....  she  moved  tiptoe  .  .  .  "I 
saw  a  beautiful  butterfly  once!"  she 
said.  But  the  woman  did  not  hear.  .  . 
She  had  passed  out  of  the  shed — around 
the  corner — and  was  looking  after  the 
chickens  outside — her  voice  clucking  to 
them  lightly.  .  .  .  The  child  moved  to 
ward  the  butterfly,  absorbed  in  shining 
thought "It  was  a  beautiful  but 
terfly — "  she  said  softly,  "in  a  Greek 
shop."  The  wings  of  the  butterfly  rose 


A  BUTTERFLY  FLIGHT        223 

and  circled  vaguely  and  passed  behind 
her,  and  she  wheeled  about,  peering  up 
into  the  dark  shed.  She  saw  the  yellow 
wings — up  there — poise  themselves,  and 
wait  a  minute — and  sail  toward  the  light 

outside But  she  did  not  turn  to 

follow  its  flight—  Across  the  brown 
boards  of  the  shed — behind  a  pile  of 
lumber,  against  the  wall  up  there — a 
head  had  lifted  itself  and  was  looking 
at  her.  She  caught  her  breath — "I  saw 
a  butterfly  once!"  she  repeated  dully. 
It  was  half  a  sob—  The  head  laid  a 
long,  dark  finger  on  its  lip  and  sank 
from  sight.  .  .  .  The  child  wheeled  to 
ward  the  open  light — the  woman  was 
coming  in,  her  hands  filled  with  eggs. 
"I  must  carry  these  in,"  she  said 
briskly.  She  looked  at  the  child.  "You 
can  stay  and  play  a  little  while — if  you 
want  to.  But  you  must  not  go  away, 
you  know." 

"I  will  not  go  away,"  said  the  child, 
breathless. 

So  the  woman  turned  and  left  her — 
and  the  child's  eyes  followed  her. 


xxxn 

AND   A   VOICE 

you  hear  me,  little  Miss  Harris?" 
The  voice  came  from  the  dusky  shed, 
high  up  against  the  wall. 

But  the  child  did  not  turn  her  head. 
"Yes — Mr.  Achilles — I  can  hear  you 
very  well, ' '  she  said  softly. 

" Don't  look  this  way,"  said  the  voice. 
"Get  down  and  look  at  the  chickens — 
and  listen  to  what  I  tell  you." 

The  child  dropped  obediently  to  her 
knees,  her  head  a  little  bent,  her  face 
toward  the  open  light  outside. 

The  woman,  going  about  her  work  in 
the  kitchen,  looked  out  and  saw  her  and 
nodded  to  her  kindly — 

The  child's  lips  made  a  little  smile  in 
return.  They  were  very  pale. 

"I  come  to  take  you  home,"  said  the 
voice.  It  was  full  of  tenderness  and 
Betty  Harris  bent  her  head,  a  great 

224 


AND  A  VOICE  225 

wave  of  homesickness  sweeping  across 
her — "I  can't  go,  Mr.  Achilles."  It 
was  like  a  sob — "I  can't  go.  .  .  .  They 
will  kill  you  ...  I  heard  them.  .  .  . 
They  will  kill  anybody — that  comes — !" 
She  spoke  in  swift  little  whispers — and 
waited.  ' '  Can  you  hear  me  say  it  ? "  she 
asked.  .  .  .  "Can  you  hear  me  say  it, 
Mr.  Achilles?" 

"I  hear  it — yes."  The  voice  of 
Achilles  laughed  a  little.  "They  will 
not  kill — little  lady,  and  you  go  home— 
with  me — to-night."  The  voice  dropped 
down  from  its  high  place  and  comforted 
her. 

She  reached  out  little  hands  to  the 
chickens  and  laughed  tremulously.  "I 
am  afraid,"  she  said  softly,  "I  am 
afraid!" 

But  the  low  voice,  up  in  the  dusk, 
steadied  her  and  gave  her  swift  com 
mands — and  repeated  them — till  she 
crept  from  the  dim  shed  into  the  light 
and  stood  up — blinking  a  little — and 
looked  about  her — and  laughed  happily. 

And  the  woman  came  to  the  door  and 


226  ME.  ACHILLES 

smiled  at  her.    "You  must  come  in," 
she  called. 

"Yes— Mrs.  Seabury— "  The  child 
darted  back  into  the  shed  and  gathered 
up  the  spoon  and  basin  from  the  board 
and  looked  about  her  swiftly.  In  the 
slatted  box,  the  mother  hen  clucked 
drowsily,  and  wise  cheeps  from  be 
neath  her  wings  answered  bravely. 
The  child  glanced  at  the  box,  and  up 
at  the  dusky  boards  of  the  shed,  peer 
ing  far  in  the  dimness.  But  there 
was  no  one — not  even  a  voice — just  the 
high,  tumbled  pile  of  boards — and  the 
few  nests  along  the  wall  and  the  mother 
hen  clucking  cosily  behind  her  slats — 
and  the  wise  little  cheeps. 


XXXIII 

"WAKE  UP,  MRS.  SEABTJRY!" 

THE  child  lay  with  her  hands  clasped, 
breathing  lightly.  The  sound  of  voices 
came  drowsily  from  the  kitchen  .... 
she  must  not  go  to  sleep!  She  sat  up 
and  leaned  toward  the  little  window 
that  looked  out  to  the  north.  Through 
the  blackness  the  stars  twinkled  mistily, 
and  she  put  her  foot  carefully  over  the 
edge  of  the  bed  and  slipped  down.  The 
window  was  open — as  far  as  the  small 
sash  allowed — and  a  warm,  faint  breeze 
came  across  the  plain  to  her.  She 
leaned  against  the  sill,  looking  out.  It 

was  not  far  to  the  ground But 

she  could  see  only  vague  blackness  down 
there,  and  she  looked  again  up  to  the 
twinkling  stars.  .  .  .  They  were  little 
points  of  light  up  there,  and  she  looked 
up  trustfully  while  the  warm  wind  blew 
against  her.  .  .  .  Her  heart  was  beating 

227 


228  MR.  ACHILLES 

very  hard — and  fast — but  she  was  not 
afraid.  .  .  Mr.  Achilles  had  said — not 
to  be  afraid — and  he  was  waiting — 
down  there  in  the  blackness  to  take  her 
home  ....  She  crept  back  to  bed  and 
lay  down — very  still.  ...  In  the  room 
below  there  was  a  scraping  of  chairs 
and  louder  words — and  footsteps.  .  .  . 
Someone  had  opened  the  door  under  her 
window  and  the  smell  of  tobacco  came 
up.  .  .  .  Her  little  nose  disdained  it — 
and  listened,  alert.  Footsteps  went  out 
into  the  night  and  moved  a  little  away 
on  the  gravel  and  came  back,  and  the 
door  closed.  .  .  .  She  could  hear  the 
bolt  click  to  its  place  and  the  footsteps 

shuffle  along  the  hall The  voices 

below  had  ceased  and  the  house  was 
still — she  was  very  sleepy  now.  But  he 
had  said — Mr.  Achilles  had  said.  .  .  . 
She  winked  briskly  and  gave  herself  a 
little  pinch  under  the  clothes — and  sat 
up.  It  was  a  sharp  little  pinch — 
through  many  thicknesses  of  clothes. 
Under  the  coarse  nightgown  buttoned 
carefully  to  the  throat,  she  was  still 


"WAKE  UP,  MRS.  SEABURY!"     229 

wearing  the  red  and  green  plaids  and 
all  her  day  clothes.  Only  the  clumsy 
shoes,  slipped  off,  stood  by  the  bed,  wait 
ing  for  her.  Her  hand  reached  down 
to  them  cautiously,  and  felt  them— 
and  she  lay  down  and  closed  her 
eyes.  There  was  a  step  on  the  stairs- 
coming  slowly.  Betty  Harris  grew  very 
still.  ...  If  Mrs.  Seabury  came  in  and 
stood  and  looked  at  her  .  .  .  she  must 
cry  out— and  throw  her  arms  around 
her  neck — and  tell  her  everything!  She 
could  not  hurt  Mrs.  Seabury.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Achilles  had  said  they  would  not  hurt 
her.  She  had  asked  him  that — three 
times,  herself — and  Mr.  Achilles  had 
said  it — no  one  should  hurt  Mrs.  Sea- 
bury — if  Betty  went  away.  .  .  .  She 
held  her  breath.  .  .  .  The  footsteps  had 
come  across  the  room — to  her  door — 
they  waited  there.  .  .  then  they  moved 
on — and  she  drew  a  free  breath.  Her 
heart  thumped  to  the  vague  movements 
that  came  and  went  in  the  next  room— 
they  pottered  about  a  little,  and  finally 
ceased  and  a  light,  indrawn  breath  blew 


230  MR.  ACHILLES 

out  the  lamp — a  hand  was  groping  for 
the  handle  of  her  door — and  opening  it 
softly — and  the  bare  feet  moved 
away  .  .  .  The  bed- springs  in  the  next 
room  creaked  a  little  and  everything  was 
still.  Betty  Harris  had  a  quick  sense  of 
pain  ....  Mrs.  Seabury  was  kind  to 
her !  She  had  been  so  kind  that  first  day, 
when  they  brought  her  in  out  of  the  hot 
sun,  and  she  had  stumbled  on  the  stairs 
and  sobbed  out — Mrs.  Seabury  had 
picked  her  up  and  carried  her  up  the 
stairs  and  comforted  her.  .  .  .  and  told 
her  what  it  meant — these  strange  harsh 
men  seizing  her  in  the  open  sunshine,  as 
they  swept  past — covering  her  mouth 
with  hard  hands  and  hurrying  her  out 
of  the  city  to  this  stifling  place.  .  .  . 
She  loved  Mrs.  Seabury.  .  .  .  Perhaps 
they  would  put  her  in  prison  .  .  .  and 
never  let  her  out — and  Mollie  would  not 
get  well.  The  child  gave  a  little, 
quick  sob,  in  her  thought,  and  lay  very 
still  .  .  .  Mollie  had  been  good  once, 
and  wicked  men  had  hurt  her  .  .  .  and 
now  her  mother  could  not  help  her.  .  .  . 


"WAKE  UP,  MRS.  SEABURY!"     231 

But  Mr.  Achilles  said — yes — he  said 
it — no  one  should  hurt  her.  .  .  .  And 
with  the  thought  of  the  Greek  she  lay  in 
the  darkness,  listening  to  the  sounds  of 
the  night.  .  .  .  There  was  a  long,  light 
call  somewhere  across  the  plain,  a  train 
of  heavy  Pullmans  pushing  through  the 
night — the  sound  came  to  the  child  like 
a  whiff  of  breath,  and  passed  away  .  .  . 
and  the  crickets  chirped — high  and 
shrill.  ...  In  the  next  room,  the  breath 
ing  grew  loud,  and  louder,  in  long,  even 
beats.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Seabury  was  asleep! 
Betty  Harris  sat  up  in  bed,  her  little 
hands  clinched  fast  at  her  side.  Then 
she  lay  down  again— and  waited  .  .  . 
and  the  breathing  in  the  next  room  grew 
loud,  and  regular,  and  full.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Sea- 
bury  was  very  tired!  And  Betty  Harris 
listened,  and  slipped  down  from  the  bed, 
and  groped  for  her  shoes — and  lifted 
them  like  a  breath — and  stepped  high 

across  the  floor,  in  the  dim  room 

It  was  a  slow  flight  ....  tuned  to 
the  long-drawn,  falling  breath  of  the 
sleeper — that  did  not  break  by  a  note — 


232  MR.  ACHILLES 

not  even  when  the  brown  hand  released 
the  latch  and  a  little,  sharp  click  fell  on 
the  air.  .  .  "Wake  up,  Mrs.  Seabury! 
Wake  up — for  Mollie  's  sake — wake  up ! " 
the  latch  said.  But  the  sleeper  did  not 
stir — only  the  long,  regular,  dream-filled, 
droning  sleep.  .  .  .  And  the  child  crept 
down  the  stair — across  the  kitchen  and 
reached  the  outer  door.  .  .  .  She  was 
not  afraid  now — one  more  door!  The 
men  would  not  hear  her — they  were 
asleep — Mrs.  Seabury  was  asleep— 
and  her  fingers  turned  the  key  softly 
and  groped  to  the  bolt  above — and 
pushed  at  it — hard — and  fell  back— 
and  groped  for  it  again — and  tugged  . .  . 
little  beads  of  sweat  were  coming  on 
the  brown  forehead.  She  drew  the 
back  of  her  hand  swiftly  across  them 
and  reached  again  to  the  bolt.  ...  It 
was  too  high — she  could  reach  it — but 
not  to  push.  .  .  .  She  felt  for  a  chair,  in 
the  darkness — and  lifted  it,  without  a 
sound,  and  carried  it  to  the  door  and 
climbed  up.  .  .  .  There  was  a  great 
lump  in  her  throat  now.  .  .  .  Mr.  Achil- 


"WAKE  UP,  MRS.  SEABURY!"     233 

les  did  not  know  the  bolt  would  stick 
like  this — she  gave  a  fierce,  soft  tug,  like 
a  sob — and  it  slid  back.  The  knob 
turned  and  the  door  opened  and  she  was 

in  the  night For  a  moment  her 

eyes  groped  with  the  blackness.  .  . 
Then  a  long,  quiet  hand  reached  out  to 
her — and  closed  upon  her — and  she  gave 
a  little  sob,  and  was  drawn  swiftly  into 
the  night. 


XXXIV 

THE   FLIGHT    OF   STABS 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Achilles?"  she  asked 
• — into  the  dark. 

And  the  voice  of  Achilles  laughed 
down  to  her.  "I'm  here — yes.  It's 
me.  We  must  hurry  now — fast. 
Come!" 

He  gripped  the  small  hand  in  his  and 
they  sped  out  of  the  driveway,  toward 
the  long  road.  Up  above  them  the  lit 
tle  stars  blinked  down,  and  the  warm 
wind  touched  their  faces  as  they  went. 
The  soft  darkness  shut  them  in.  There 
was  only  the  child,  clinging  to  Achilles 's 
great  hand  and  hurrying  through  the 
night.  Far  in  the  distance,  a  dull,  sul 
len  glow  lit  the  sky — the  city's  glow — 
and  Betty's  home,  out  there  beneath  it, 
in  the  dark.  But  the  child  did  not 
know.  She  would  not  have  known 
which  way  the  city  lay — but  for  Achil- 

234 


les's  guiding  hand.  She  clung  fast  to 
that — and  they  sped  on. 

By  and  by  he  ran  a  little,  reaching 
down  to  her — and  his  spirit  touched  hers 
and  she  ran  without  fatigue  beside  him, 
with  little  breathless  laughs — "I — like 
— to  run!"  she  said. 

"Yes. — come—  He  hurried  her 
faster  over  the  road — he  would  not 
spare  her  now.  He  held  her  life  in  his 
hand — and  the  little  children — he  saw 
them,  asleep  in  their  dreams,  over  there 
in  the  glow.  .  .  .  "Come!"  he  said. 
And  they  ran  fast. 

It  was  the  first  half  hour  he  feared. 
If  there  was  no  pursuit,  over  the  dark 
road  behind  them,  then  he  would  spare 
her — but  not  now.  "Come!"  he  urged, 
and  they  flew  faster. 

And  behind  them  the  little  house  lay 
asleep — under  its  stars — no  sign  of  life 
when  his  swift-flashing  glance  sought  it 
out — and  the  heart  of  Achilles  stretched 
to  the  miles  and  laughed  with  them  and 
leaped  out  upon  them,  far  ahead.  .  .  . 
He  should  bring  her  home  safe. 


236  MR.  ACHILLES 

Then,  upon  the  night,  came  a  sound — 
faint-stirring  wings  -  -  a  long-drawn 
buzz  and  rush  of  air — deep  notes  that 
gripped  the  ground,  far  off — and  the 
pulse  of  pounding  wheels — behind  them, 
along  the  dark  road.  .  .  .  And  Achil 
les  seized  the  child  by  the  shoulder, 
bearing  her  forward  toward  the  short 
grass — his  quick-running  hand  thrusting 
her  down —  ' i  Lie  still ! "  he  whispered. 
The  lights  of  the  car  had  gleamed  out, 
swaying  a  little  in  the  distance,  as  he 
threw  his  coat  across  her  and  pressed 
it  flat.  "Lie  still!"  he  whispered 
again,  and  was  back  in  the  road,  his 
hand  feeling  for  the  great  banana  knife 
that  rested  in  his  shirt — his  eye  search 
ing  the  road  behind.  There  was  time — 
yes — and  he  turned  about  and  swung 
into  the  long,  stretching  pace  that  cov 
ers  the  miles — without  hurry,  without 
rest.  The  roar  behind  him  grew,  and 
flashed  to  light — and  swept  by — and  his 
eye  caught  the  face  of  the  chauffeur,  as 
it  flew,  leaning  intently  on  the  night; 
and  in  the  lighted  car  behind  him, 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  STARS        237 

flashed  a  face — a  man's  face,  outlined 
against  the  glass,  a  high,  white  face 
fixed  upon  a  printed  page — some  mag 
nate,  travelling  at  his  ease,  sleepless.  .  .  . 
thundering  past  in  the  night — uncon 
scious  of  the  Greek,  plodding  in  the 
roadside  dust. 

Achilles  knew  that  he  had  only  to  lift 
his  hand — to  cry  out  to  them,  as  they 
sped,  and  they  would  turn  with  leaping 
wheel.  There  was  not  a  man,  hurrying 
about  his  own  affairs,  who  would  not 
gladly  stop  to  gather  up  the  child  that 
was  lost.  .  .  .  Word  had  come  to  Philip 
Harris — east  and  west — endless  offers 
of  help.  .  .  .  But  the  great  car  thun 
dered  by  and  Achilles 's  glance  followed 
it,  sweeping  with  it — on  toward  the  city 
and  the  dull  glow  of  sky.  He  was 
breathing  hard  as  he  went,  and  he 
plunged  on  a  step — two  steps — ten — be 
fore  he  held  his  pace;  then  he  drew  a 
deep,  free  breath,  and  faced  about. 
The  knife  dropped  back  in  his  breast, 
and  his  hand  sought  the  revolver  in 
his  hip  pocket,  crowding  it  down  a  lit- 


238  MR.  ACHILLES 

tie.  .  .  .  He  had  been  sure  he  could  face 
them — two  of  them — three — as  many  as 
might  be.  ...  But  the  car  had  swept 
on,  bearing  its  strangers  to  the  city  .  .  . 
and  the  little  house  on  the  plain  was  still 
asleep.  He  had  a  kind  of  happy  super 
stition  that  he  was  to  save  the  child  sin 
gle-handed.  .  .  .  He  had  not  trusted  the 
police  .  .  .  with  their  great,  foolish  fin 
gers.  They  could  not  save  his  little  girl. 
She  had  needed  Achilles — and  he  had 
held  the  thread  of  silken  cobweb — and 
traced  it  bit  by  bit  to  the  place  where 
they  had  hidden  her.  He  should  save 
her! 

He  glanced  at  the  stars — an  hour 
gone — and  the  long  road  to  tramp.  He 
ran  swiftly  to  the  child  in  the  grass  and 
lifted  the  coat  and  she  leaped  up,  laugh 
ing — as  if  it  were  a  game;  and  they 
swung  out  into  the  road  again,  walking 
with  swift,  even  steps.  "Are  you 
tired?"  asked  Achilles.  But  she  shook 
her  head. 

His  hand  in  his  pocket,  in  the  dark 
ness,  had  felt  something  and  he  pressed 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  STARS        239 

it  toward  her—     "Eat  that,"  he  said, 
' l  you  will  be  hungry. ' ' 

She  took  it  daintily,  and  felt  of  it,  and 
turned  it  over — "What  is  it?"  she  asked. 
Then  she  set  her  small  teeth  in  it— 
and  laughed  out.  "It's  chocolate," 
she  exclaimed  happily.  She  held  it 
up,  "Will  you  have  a  bite,  Mr.  Achil 
les?" 

But  Achilles  had  drawn  out  another 
bit  of  tin-foil  and  opened  it.  "I  have 
yet  more,"  he  said,  " — two-three-six 
piece.  I  put  here  in  my  pocket,  every 
day — I  carry  chocolate — till  I  find  you. 
Every  day  I  say,  'she  be  hungry, 
maybe — then  she  like  chocolate  '- 

She  nibbled  it  in  happy  little  nibbles, 
as  they  walked.  "I  didn't  eat  any  sup 
per,"  she  said.  "I  wras  too  happy— 
and  too  afraid,  I  guess.  That  was  a 
long  time  ago,"  she  added,  after  a  min 
ute. 

"A  long  time  ago,"  said  Achilles 
cheerfully.  Pie  had  taken  her  hand 
again,  and  they  trudged  on  under  the 
stars. 


240  MR.  ACHILLES 

"Nobody  must  hurt  Mrs.  Seabury!" 
said  the  child  suddenly. 

"I  tell  you  that,"  said  Achilles — he 
had  half  stopped  on  the  road.  "No 
body  hurt  that  good  lady — she,  your 
friend. ' ' 

"Yes,  she  is  my  friend.  She  was 
good  to  me.  .  .  .  She  had  a  little  girl 
once — like  me — and  some  bad  men  hurt 
her.  ...  I  don't  think  they  stole 
her—  She  pondered  it  a  minute — "I 
don't  seem  to  understand—  '  she  gave  a 
little  swift  sigh.  "But  Mrs.  Seabury  is 
going  to  take  her  a  long,  long  way  off — 
and  keep  her  always." 

Achilles  nodded.  "We  help  her  do 
that,"  he  said.  "They  don't  hurt  that 
good  lady." 

His  eyes  were  on  the  stars,  and  he 
lifted  his  face  a  little,  breathing  in  the 
freshness.  A  swift  star  shot  across  the 
sky,  falling  to  earth,  and  he  pointed  with 
eager  finger.  The  child  looked  up  and 
caught  the  falling  flash,  and  they  ran  a 
little,  as  if  to  follow  the  leaping  of  their 
hearts.  Then  they  went  more  slowly, 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  STARS        241 

and  Achilles 's  long  finger  traced  the 
heavens  for  her — the  Greek  gods  up 
there  in  their  swinging  orbits  .  .  .  the 
warm,  August  night  of  the  world. 
Betty  Harris  had  never  known  the  stars 
like  this.  .  .  .  Safe  from  her  window, 
she  had  seen  them  twinkle  out.  .  .  .  But 
here  they  swept  about  her — and  the 
plain  reached  wide — and  close,  in  the 
darkness,  a  hand  held  her  safe  and  the 
long  finger  of  Achilles  touched  the  stars 
and  drew  them  down  for  her  .  .  .Orion 
there,  marching  with  his  mighty  belt — 
and  Mars  red-gleaming.  The  long, 
white  plume  of  the  milky  way,  trailing 
soft  glory  on  the  sky — and  the  great 
bear  to  the  north.  The  names  filled  her 
ears  with  a  mighty  din,  Calliope,  Venus, 
Uranus,  Mercury,  Mars — and  the  shin 
ing  hosts  of  heaven  passed  by.  Far  be 
yond  them,  mysterious  other  worlds 
gleamed  and  glimmered  -  -  without 
name.  .  .  .  And  the  heart  of  the  child 
reached  to  them — and  travelled  through 
the  vast  arches  of  space,  with  her 
dusty  little  feet  on  the  wide  plain,  and  a 


242  MR.  ACHILLES 

hand  holding  hers,  safe  and  warm 
down  there  in  the  darkness.  .  .  .  Her 
eyes  dropped  from  the  stars  and  she 
trudged  on. 

When  Achilles  spoke  again,  he  was 
telling  her  of  Alcibiades  and  Yaxis  and 
of  the  long  days  of  waiting  and  the  hap 
piness  their  coming  would  bring — and  of 
her  father  and  mother,  asleep  at  Idle- 
wood — and  the  great  house  on  the  lake, 
ready  always,  night  and  day,  for  her 
coming — 

"Do  they  know — "  she  asked  quickly, 
"that  we  are  coming?" 

"Nobody  knows,"  said  Achilles,  "ex 
cept  you  and  me." 

She  laughed  out,  under  the  stars,  and 
stood  still.  "We  shall  surprise  them!" 
she  said. 

"Yes — come!"  They  pressed  on. 
Far  ahead,  foolish  little  stars  had 
glimmered  out — close  to  the  ground — 
the  fingers  of  the  city,  stretching  toward 
the  plain. 

Her  glance  ran  to  them.  "We're  get 
ting  somewhere — ?"  she  said  swiftly. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  STARS 

"We're     getting     home!"     Her     hand 
squeezed  his,  swinging  it  a  little. 

"Not  yet—"  said  Achilles,  "not 
yet — but  we  shall  take  the  car  there. 
You  need  not  walk  any  more." 

She  was  very  quiet  and  he  leaned  to 
ward  her  anxiously.  "You  are  not 
tired,"  he  asked. 

"No — Mr.  Achilles — I  don't  think— 
I'm  tired—  She  held  the  words 
slowly.  "I  just  thought  we'd  go  on  for 
ever,  walking  like  this—  She  looked 
up  and  swept  her  small  hand  toward  the 
stars.  "I  thought  it  was  a  dream- 
she  said  softly — "Like  the  other 
dreams!"  He  felt  a  little,  quick  throb 
run  through  her,  and  he  bent  again  and 
his  fingers  touched  her  cheek. 

"I  am  not  crying,  Mr.  Achilles,"  she 
said  firmly,  "I  only  just—  There  was 
a  little,  choking  sound  and  her  face  had 
buried  itself  in  his  sleeve. 

And  Achilles  bent  to  her  with  ten 
der  gesture.  Then  he  lifted  his  head 
and  listened.  .  .  .  There  was  another 
sound,  on  the  plain,  mingling  with  the 


244  MR.  ACHILLES 

sobs  that  swept  across  the  child's 
frame. 

He  touched  her  quietly.  ' '  Someone  is 
coming,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face,  holding  her  breath 
with  quick  lip 

The  sound  creaked  to  them,  and  muf 
fled  itself,  and  spread  across  the  plain, 
and  came  again  in  irregular  rhythm  that 
grew  to  the  slow  beat  of  hoofs  coming 
upon  the  road. 

Achilles  listened  back  to  the  sound 
and  waited  a  minute.  Then  he  covered 
the  child,  as  before,  with  his  coat  and 
turned  back,  walking  along  the  road  to 
meet  the  sound.  It  creaked  toward  him 
and  loomed  through  the  light  of  the 
stars — a  great  market  wagon  loaded  with 
produce — the  driver  leaning  forward  on 
the  seat  with  loose  rein,  half  asleep. 
Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head  and  tight 
ened  rein,  peering  forward  through  the 
dark  at  the  figure  down  there  in  the 
road.  Achilles  held  his  way. 

" Hello!"  said  the  man  sharply. 

Achilles  paused  and  looked  up — one 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  STARS        245 

hand  resting  lightly  on  his  hip,  turned 
a  little  back — the  other  thrust  in  his 
breast. 

The  man's  eyes  scanned  him  through 
the  dimness.  "Where  you  bound  for?'* 
he  asked  curtly. 

"I  walk,"  said  Achilles. 

"Want  a  job?"  asked  the  man. 

"You  got  job  for  me?"  asked  Achil 
les.  His  voice  had  all  the  guileless  cau 
tion  of  the  foreigner  astray  in  a  free 
land.  The  man  moved  along  on  the 
seat.  "Jump  up,"  he  said. 

Achilles  looked  back  and  forth  along 
the  road.  "I  think  I  go  long,"  he  said 
slowly. 

The  man  gave  an  impatient  sound  in 
his  throat  and  clicked  to  the  horses. 
The  heavy  wagon  creaked  into  motion, 
and  caught  its  rhythm  and  rumbled  on. 

Achilles 's  ears  followed  it  with  deep- 
bent  caution.  The  creaking  mass  of 
sound  had  passed  the  flat-spread  coat 
without  stop,  and  gathered  itself  away 
into  a  slow  rumble,  and  passed  on  in  the 
blurring  dark. 


246  MR.  ACHILLES 

Beyond  it,  the  little,  low  lights  still 
twinkled  and  the  suburb  waited  with  its 
trailing  cars. 

But  when  he  lifted  the  coat  she  had 
fallen  asleep,  her  face  resting  on  her 
arm,  and  he  bent  to  it  tenderly,  and  lis 
tened. 


XXXV 

AND    CLANGING    CARS 

HE  looked  up  into  the  darkness  and 
waited.  He  would  let  her  sleep  a  min 
ute.  .  .  .  there  was  little  danger  now. 
The  city  waited,  over  there,  with  its 
low  lights;  and  the  friendly  night  shut 
them  in.  Before  the  morning  dawned 
he  should  bring  her  home — safe  home. 
...  A  kind  of  simple  pride  held  him, 
and  his  heart  leaped  a  little  to  the  stars 
and  sang  with  them — as  he  squatted  in 
the  low  grass,  keeping  guard. 

Presently  he  leaned  and  touched  her. 

She  started  with  a  shiver  and  sprang 
up,  rubbing  her  eyes  and  crying  out,  "I— 
had — a — dream — •"  she  said  softly — "a 
beautiful  dream!"  Then  her  eyes 
caught  the  stars  and  blinked  to  them — 
through  dusty  sleep — and  she  turned  to 
him  with  swift  cry,  "You're  here!"  she 
said.  "It's  not  a  dream!  It's  you!" 

247 


248  MR.  ACHILLES 

And  Achilles  laughed  out.  "We're 
going  home,"  he  said,  "when  you're 
rested  a  little." 

"But  I'm  rested  now!"  she  cried. 
"Come!"  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
they  journeyed  again — through  the 
night.  .  .  .  About  them,  the  plain 
breathed  deep  sleeping  power — and  the 
long  road  stretched  from  the  west  to  the 
east  and  brought  them  home. 

Each  step,  the  city  lights  grew  larger, 
and  sparkled  more,  and  spread  apart 
farther,  and  a  low  rumble  came  creeping 
on  the  plain — jarring  with  swift  jolts — 
the  clang  of  cars  and  lifting  life  .... 
and,  in  the  distance,  a  line  of  light 
ran  fire  swiftly  on  the  air,  and  darted, 
red  and  green,  and  trailed  again  in 
fire  .  .  .  and  Achilles 's  finger  pointed 
to  it.  ' '  That  fire  will  take  us  home, ' '  he 
said. 

The  child's  eye  followed  the  flashing 
cars — and  she  smiled  out.  The  first 
light  of  the  city's  rim  touched  her  face. 

"Just  a  little  farther!"  said  Achilles. 

"But  I  am  not  tired!"  said  the  child, 


AND  CLANGING  CARS         249 

and  she  ran  a  little,  beside  him,  on  the 
stone  pavement,  her  small  shoes  clump 
ing  happily. 

Achilles  lifted  a  swift  hand  to  a  wait 
ing  car.  The  car  clanged  its  gong — impa 
tient.  A  big  conductor  reached  down 
his  hand  to  the  child.  The  bell  clanged 
again  and  they  were  off — "Clang-clang, 
clear  the  track!  Betty  Harris  is  going 
home—  This  is  the  people's  carriage — • 
Going  home!  Going  home!  Clear 
the  track — clang-clang ! ' '-  -Through  the 
blinking  city  streets  they  rode.  Safe 
among  the  friendly  houses,  and  the 
shops  and  the  stores,  and  the  people 
sleeping  behind  their  blinds — all  the 
people  who  had  loved  the  child — and 
scanned  the  paper  for  her,  every  day— 
and  asked,  "Is  Betty  Harris  found?" 
.  .  .  Going  home!  Going  home!  .  .  . 
They  would  waken  in  the  morning  and 
read  the  news  and  shout  across  the  way 
— "She's  been  found — yes — a  Greek! 
He  brought  her  home!  Thank  God. 
She's  found!" 


250  MR.  ACHILLES 

And  little  Betty  Harris,  leaning 
against  the  great  shoulder  beside  her, 
nodded  in  the  car,  and  dreamed  little 
dreams  and  looked  about  her  hazily. 

The  conductor  came  and  stood  in  front 
of  them  with  extended  hand,  and  rang 
the  fares,  and  cast  an  indifferent,  kindly 
glance  at  the  Greek  and  his  child  trav 
elling  by  night.  .  .  .  He  did  not  guess 
the  "scoop"  that  his  two  little  nickels 
rang  out.  The  child  with  roughened 
hair  and  clumsy,  hanging  shoes,  was 
nothing  to  him — nor  to  the  policeman 
that  boarded  the  car  at  the  next  corner 
and  ran  his  eye  down  its  empty  length 
to  the  Greek,  sitting  erect — with  the 
child  sleeping  beside  him — her  dark, 
tousled  head  against  his  arm. 

The  conductor  came  again,  and 
touched  Achilles  on  the  shoulder  and 
bent  to  him.  "You  change  here,"  he 
said.  He  was  pointing  to  a  car  across 
the  square — "You  take  that,"  he  said. 
"You  understand?"  He  shouted  a 
little — because  the  man  was  a  for 
eigner — and  dark — but  his  tone  was 


AND  CLANGING  CARS         251 

friendly.  And  Achilles  got  to  his  feet, 
guiding  the  sleepy  child  down  the  rib- 
floored  car  that  shook  beneath  them 
....  And  the  conductor  and  policeman 
watched  the  two  figures  vanish  through 
the  door — and  smiled  to  each  other — a 
friendly  smile  at  foreign  folks — who 
travel  in  strange  ways — and  go  among 
us  with  eager,  intent  faces  fixed  on  some 
shining  goal  we  cannot  see  .  .  .  with  the 
patience  of  the  centuries  leaning  down 
to  them,  and  watching  them. 


XXXVI 


IN  the  middle  of  the  square,  Achilles 
stopped — a  lighted  sign  had  caught  his 
eye.  .  .  .  He  hurried  the  child  across 
the  blur  of  tracks  to  the  sign,  and 
opened  a  door  softly.  A  sleepy  ex 
change-girl  looked  up  and  waited  while 
Achilles 's  dark  fingers  searched  the 
page  and  turned  to  her — "Main — four- 
four-seven — "  she  drawled  sleepily 
after  him —  "Go  in  there — number 
four. ' ' 

Achilles,  with  the  child's  hand  in  his, 
entered  the  booth  and  closed  the  door. 
Little  noises  clicked  about  them — queer 
meanings  whispered — and  waited — and 
moved  off — the  whole  night-life  of  the 

great  city  stirred  in  the  little1  cage 

"Go  ahead — four!"  called  the  girl  la 
zily.  And  Achillesi  lifted  the  black  tube. 
The  child  beside  him  pressed  close,  her 

252 


THE  TELEPHONE  AGAIN      253 

eyes  fixed  on  the  tube.  Achilles 's  words 
ran  swift  on  the  wire,  and  her  eager 
face  held  them — other  words  came 
back  --  sharp  --  swift.  .  .  .  The  child 
heard  them  crackle,  and  leap,  and  break 
and  crackle  again  in  the  misty  depths — 
and  she  touched  Achilles 's  arm  softly — • 
"They  must  not  hurt  Mrs.  Seabury — I" 
she  said.  "You  tell  them  not  to 
hurt  Mrs.  Seabury!"  Achilles 's  hand 
pressed  her  shoulder  gently.  .  .  "Yes — 
I  tell — they  know.  ..."  It  was  a 
swift  aside — and  his  voice  had  taken  up 
the  tale — "That  woman — you  not  take 
that  woman.  .  .  .  You  hear?  Yes — she 
good  woman!" 

"Tell  them  to  look  in  the  cellar!"  said 
Betty.  She  had  pressed  closer,  on  tip 
toe.  "There  is  a  hole  there — under  a 
barrel — and  a  barrel  in  the  garden. 
You  tell  them—" 

His  eye  dropped  to  her — "In  cellar? 
You  say  that?" 

"Yes — yes — "  Her  hands  were 
clasped — "They  took  me  there!  You 
tell  them!" 


254  MR.  ACHILLES 

Achilles 's  eye  smiled.  "Hallo — you 
look  in  cellar!  .  .  .  What  you  say? — no 
— I  don't  see  it.  But  you  look  in  cellar- 
yes  !  They  make  tunnel — yes ! ' '  He 
hung  up  the  receiver  and  took  her  hand. 
''Now  we  go  home,"  he  said. 

They  passed  swiftly  out,  dropping 
payment — into  a  sleepy,  unseeing  palm— 
and  crossing  the  square  to  the  car  that 
should  carry  them  home.  There  were 
no  delays  now — only  swift-running 
wheels  ....  a  few  jolts  and  stops — and 
they  were  out  again,  beneath  the  stars, 
hurrying  along  the  great  breakwater  of 

the  lake — hurrying  home The 

big,  red-brown  house  thrust  itself  up — 
its  gables  reaching  to  thin  blackness — 
and,  suddenly,  as  they  looked,  it  was 
touched  lightly,  as  with  a  great  finger, 
and  the  dawn  glowed  mistily  up  the 
walls. 

They  crossed  swiftly  and  mounted  the 
steps,  between  the  lions,  the  child's  feet 
stumbling  a  little  as  they  went,  but 
Achilles 's  hand  held  fast  and  his 
touch  on  the  bell  summoned  hurrying 


THE  TELEPHONE  AGAIN      255 

feet there  was  a  fumbling  at 

the  chains — a  swift,  cautious  creak,  and 
the  door  swung  back — "Who  is  it?" 
said  a  voice  that  peered  out.  The  dawn 
touched  his  face  grotesquely. 

"It's  me!"  said  the  child.  "It's 
Betty  Harris,  Conner." 

The  man's  face  fell  back.  Then  he 
darted  forward  and  glared  at  the  child 
— through  the  mysterious,  dawning 
light — on  the  dark,  tender  face  and  the 
little  lip  that  trembled — looking  up — 
"My  God!"  he  said.  He  had  darted 
from  them. 

The  door  was  open  wide  and  the  two 
glided  in  silently,  and  stood  in  the  empti 
ness.  Achilles  led  the  child  to  a  great 
divan  across  the  hall  and  placed  her  be 
side  him — her  little  feet  were  crossed 
in  the  rough  shoes  and  her  hands  hung 
listless. 

Behind  a  velvet  curtain,  the  butler's 
voice  called  frantic  words — a  telephone 
bell  rang  sharply  and  whirred  and  rang 
a  long  fierce  call  and  the  butler's  voice 
took  it  up  and  flung  it  back — "Yes,  sir. 


256  MR.  ACHILLES 

She's  here!  Yes,  sir — that's  what  I 
said — she's  a-settin'  here,  sir — on  the 
sofa — with  the  furriner — yes,  sir!"  He 
put  his  head  around  the  velvet  curtain. 
*  *  Will  you  speak  to  your  father,  Miss  ? ' ' 
His  awe-struck  hand  held  the  receiver 
and  he  helped  the  strange,  little  figure 
to  its  seat  in  front  of  the  'phone. 
She  put  the  tube  to  her  lips.  "  Hallo, 
Daddy.  Yes,  it's  Betty.  .  .  .  Mr.  Achil 
les  brought  me,  father.  .  .  .  Yes — yes — 
your  little  Betty — yes — and  I'm  all 
ri-i-ght.  ..."  The  receiver  dropped 
from  her  fingers.  She  had  buried  her 
face  in  her  arm  and  was  sobbing  softly. 


xxxvn 

THE    BIG   BED 

ACHILLES  sprang  forward.  "She's  all 
right,  Mr.  Harris — all  right!"  His 
hand  dropped  to  the  trembling  shoulder 
and  rested  there,  as  his  quiet  voice  re 
peated  the  word.  He  bent  forward  and 
lifted  the  child  in  his  arms  and  moved 
away  with  her.  But  before  he  had  trav 
ersed  the  long  hall,  the  little  head  had 
fallen  forward  on  his  shoulder  and  the 
child  slept.  Behind  the  velvet  curtain, 
the  voice  of  Conner  wrestled  faintly 
with  the  telephone  and  all  about  them 
great  lights  glowed  on  the  walls; 
they  lighted  the  great  staircase  that 
swept  mistily  up,  and  the  figure  of 
Achilles  mounting  slowly  in  the  stately, 
lonely  house,  the  child  in  his  arms.  His 
hand  steadied  the  sleeping  head  with 
careful  touch,  against  his  shoulder.  .  .  . 
They  were  not  jolting  now,  in  heavy 

257 


258  MR.  ACHILLES 

cars,  through  the  traffic  streets — or  wan 
dering  on  the  plain.  .  .  .  Little  Betty 
Harris  had  come  home. 

Above  them  at  the  top  of  the  long 
stairs,  a  grey  figure  appeared,  and 
paused  a  moment  and  looked  down. 
Then  Miss  Stone  descended  swiftly,  her 
hands  outstretched — they  did  not  touch 
the  sleeping  child,  but  hovered  above 
her  with  a  look — half  pain — half  joy. 

Achilles  smiled  to  her — "She  come 
home,"  he  whispered. 

She  turned  with  quick  breath  and  they 
mounted  the  stairs — the  child  still 
asleep  .  .  .  through  the  long  corridor 
— to  the  princess's  room  beyond — with 
its  soft  lights — and  great,  silken  hang 
ings  and  canopied  bed,  open  for  the 
night — waiting  for  Betty  Harris. 

Achilles  bent  and  laid  her  down,  with 
lightest  touch,  and  straightened  him 
self — "We  let  her  sleep,"  he  said  gently, 
"She — very  tired." 

They  stood  looking  down — at  the 
brown  face  and  the  little,  tired  lip  and 
sleeping  lids.  .  .  .  Their  eyes  met,  and 


THE  BIG  BED  259 

they  smiled.  .  .  .  They  knew — these  two, 
out  of  all  the  world — they  knew  what  it 
meant — that  the  child  was  safe. 

And  out  in  the  glowing  dawn,  the 
great  car  thundered  home,  and  Betty 
Harris's  mother  looked  out  with  swift 
eyes,  on  the  lighting  way. 

"See,  Phil— the  sun  is  up!"  She 
reached  out  her  hand — 

"Sit  still,  Louie — don't  tremble 
so—  he  said  gently.  "She  is  safe 
now —  They  have  brought  her  home. 
She's  there,  you  know,  asleep."  He 
spoke  slowly — as  if  to  a  child.  .  .  .  He 
was  gathering  up  the  morning  in  his 
heart — this  big,  harsh,  master  of  men — 
his  little  girl  was  safe — and  a  common 
Greek — a  man  out  of  the  streets — ped 
dling  bananas  and  calling  up  and 
down — had  made  his  life  worth  living. 
His  big,  tense  mind  gripped  the  fact— 
and  held  it.  Something  seemed  speak 
ing  to  him — out  of  the  east,  over  there, 
past  the  rushing  car.  ...  A  common 
Greek.  ...  He  had  flung  his  wealth  and 


260  MB.  ACHILLES 

hammered  hard — but  somehow  this  man 
had  loved  her — his  little  girl! 

"Phil—  ?"  she  said  softly. 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"Are  we  almost  home?" 

He  looked  out.  "Half  an  hour  yet — 
sit  still,  Louie — !"  He  held  her  hand 
close.  "Sit  still!"  he  said — and  the 
miles  slipped  past. 

"She  is  there— Phil?  —Yes?  They 
wouldn't  lie  to  me.  .  .  All  these 
weeks!"  she  said  softly.  ...  "I  don't 
think  I  could  bear  it  much  longer, 
Phil  ...  !"  The  tears  were  on  her 
cheeks,  raining  down  and  he  put  his 
rough  face  against  her,  adrift  in  a  new 
world. 

And  over  the  great  lake  the  sun  burst 
out,  on  a  flashing  car — and  the  door 
flung1  wide  to  Betty  Harris 's  mother,  fly 
ing  with  swift,  sure  feet  up  the  great, 
stone  steps.  .  .  .  "This  way,  ma'am — 
she's  in  here — her  own  room — this  way, 
ma'am." 

She  was  kneeling  by  the  great  cano 
pied  bed,  her  head  bent  very  low.  The 


THE  BIG  BED  261 

brown  face  trembled  a  breath  .  .  .  the 
child  put  up  a  hand  in  her  dream, 
' '  Mother-dear ! ' '  she  said — and  dreamed 
on. 


THE   END 


A     000182931     6 


